


Back to Yesterday

by ItsClydeBitches



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, BAMF Belle, F/M, Fantasy, Time Travel, Woobie Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, adorable Bae
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-05-04 02:00:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 97,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5316041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsClydeBitches/pseuds/ItsClydeBitches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an odd meeting with one of Rumplestiltskin's guests, Belle finds herself thrown some 300 years into the past. She faces a war, a fire, a sorcerer, and... oh yes, the spinner sobbing at her feet who bears a remarkably familiar face. </p><p>(Now complete!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Library

_“‘If you knew Time as well as I do,’ said the Hatter, ‘you wouldn’t talk about wasting IT. It’s HIM.’_

_‘I don’t know what you mean,’ said Alice._

_‘Of course you don’t!’ the Hatter said, tossing his head contemptuously. ‘I dare say you never spoke to Time!’_

_‘Perhaps not,’ Alice cautiously replied: ‘but I know I have to beat time when I learn music.’_

_‘Ah! That accounts for it,’ said the Hatter. ‘He won’t stand beating. Now, if you only keep on good terms with him, he’d do almost anything you liked with the clock.’”_

-        Chapter Seven: A Mad Tea-Party, _Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland_ by Lewis Carroll

 

 

 

 

Eight months into her stay at the Dark Castle, Rumpelstiltskin gave Belle a library.

 

To say that she’d been overwhelmed was a vast understatement. When Rumpelstiltskin had eased her through the doors Belle believed, for the first time in her life, that she might actually faint. She’d have been more than happy to, for the towering spiral of books laid before her deserved nothing less than her complete and utter devotion. Belle did manage to retain her feet, but only with the help of the doorjamb and some _very_ deep breathing. When she’d finally recovered enough to start making appreciative whimpers she found Rumpelstiltskin far ahead, waving his arms expansively to clear away the dust.

 

Belle had wanted to clean all parts of the Dark Castle herself, as she’d been told was her duty, but perhaps, in this case, a bit of magic could be forgive. After all, how could she ever be expected to wait? She had an entire wing of books to delve into; more books than her entire village owned, more books than she knew existed in the world! So secretly she was glad, thrilled even, when at her first violent sneeze Rumpelstiltskin had t’sked and impatiently tossed his head to rid them of the worst filth. He’d continued to clean as the tour began, often slashing his arms as if he held a rapier and the dust had agreed to a duel. Belle walked in conflict, torn between gasping at the beauty his cleaning revealed and fury that he’d ever let the library be neglected in the first place.

 

“Now, dearie,” he said, skipping along before her, “let’s see… We’ve got your histories—top left!—your biographies—booooooring!—and look!” He knelt, highlighting a row of thinner, colorful volumes. “Legends, dearie! Myths. Fables. Stories that haunt the dreams of children and the consciences of adults. If they’re wise, that is.” He snatched a book seemingly at random, flipping it open to present to her. Belle peered wonderingly at the illustration that covered both pages: a creature, half man and half fox, sitting against the trunk of an oak. He was wreathing flowers into a woman’s hair and she, blissful, did not seem to realize that her tresses slowly grew shriveled and grey at his touch. Underneath, the image was captioned with the simple word, “TRICKSTER.”

 

“Want to read of the Deceivers, dearie?” Rumpelstiltskin asked, hopping from foot to foot. “Maidens stolen by nightfall? Children tumbling from one world to the next? You can find the story of Perina here, I’m sure. She made a deal, you know. Traded her beauty for a fertile womb and became the ugliest crone to bear the fairest child.” He giggled, clapping happily at that little trick of fate. “And you know what?” He leaned in, whispering against her ear. “ _You_ know who made that deal, dearie. But I won’t be saying his name!” Rumpelstiltskin danced away, the book in his hands disappearing in a cloud of purple smoke. Belle found herself laughing, half at his good humor and half at her growing awe.

 

“That is quite the story,” she said, trailing fingers along the books’ spines. “I suppose that this… deal maker… must have stored the beauty somewhere safe, hmm?”

 

“Oh yes. Bottled away for a rainy day!”

 

“Perhaps in a gold decanter.” Belle’s eyes drifted up, towards the topmost tower where she knew Rumpelstiltskin’s workroom resided. “Sitting on a dragon skin chest? Next to the collection of beans?”

 

“Maaaaay-hap.” He grinned and skipped. “An observant one, aren’t you?”

 

“And what, exactly, would this deal maker do with such a thing?” Belle tried to dart forward to catch a glimpse of his expression, but Rumpelstiltskin was having none of that. He turned dizzyingly amongst the shelves, leading them further down the seemingly endless halls. “Would he cloak himself in its properties, I wonder?  Certainly he’d be deserving of such a reward, if he wished it. To trade the miracle of a child for mere beauty is hardly a trade at all. Most generous, I’d say.”

 

“Generous?” he scoffed.

 

Rumpelstiltskin finally stopped dancing. Belle watched as he turned slowly, cocking his head at her in disbelief. To tease him was a rare and wonderful thing, but Belle often found that doing so lead to more melancholy moods. Teasing, and the times when she referred to his humanity.

 

“I fear it would be just that, dearie.” he said, words suddenly soft amongst the books. “Only a cloak. No matter how fine the material, it will eventually wear thin and he who donned it would shed the beauty to reveal only ugliness underneath.” Rumpelstiltskin shrugged and, despite the bitterness of his words, Belle was relieved to see that his mouth still twisted with a bit of mischief. “Although, I know one thing he would _not_ need such a prize for,” he sang.

 

“Oh, and what is that?”

 

“Why, should he possess, say, a caretaker, _she_ would never need such magic. Pretty as a picture she’d be, her natural beauty outshining anything that could be brewed, bottled, or drunk.” As Belle’s cheeks stained red Rumpelstiltskin gleefully offered her his arm. “Wouldn’t you say?”

 

“Well, I suppose I must bow to your wisdom in this matter,” she murmured. For just a moment she forgot the books and linked her arm with his.

 

“Clever girl!” and he tugged her along, deeper into his maze of knowledge.

 

They passed the whole day in this manner, alternating between learning about the library and, hesitantly, learning more about each other. Rumpelstiltskin’s good mood returned as Belle lost herself in each new row of books, always expressing her amazement fervently. Happily, he showed her the scrolls he’d collected from religious men, many of their seals still unbroken. Belle spent long minutes trailing her thumbs along the spines of volumes no thicker than her pinkie, priceless artifacts taken as payment for countless deals.

 

“That,” he said, pointing to a book in gray, “was in a king’s family for longer than I’ve been alive, dearie. Amazing what we’ll part with, for the right price.”

 

Belle didn’t often like to think of Rumpelstiltskin’s work, nor the fact that her own life here at the castle was a result of his business. But she knew that there were times—rare though they were—when his bargains truly favored both parties. Rumpelstiltskin hadn’t lied when he’d told her father that he looked for offers more precious than gold; it was just that what _he_ deemed precious was not always so devastating a loss to the desperate souls who’d called him. To a woman longing for a child, surely beauty was not so terrible a price to pay; and a singular text did not seem quite so important when its loss could save an entire village from sickness. Belle gave Rumpelstiltskin’s arm a squeeze. She was learning that although the stories about him had not been exaggerated, they _had_ been a bit misleading. Sometimes, things did turn out for the best. Rumpelstiltskin spoke freely of what he wanted, whatever it was, and Belle need only pity those who lost something truly irreplaceable.

 

Like her father, losing her.

 

They rounded a corner, slipping from shadows into the torch’s reach, and Belle took the time to study Rumpelstiltskin’s face. Yes, after months in the Dark Castle she understood his business better, though she did wish that he would use his magic without compensation, if only a little. The good he might do outside of deals was truly staggering.

 

Even if Rumpelstiltskin only did little things, like cleaning a library for a mortal girl, his magic could influence the world in ways that took Belle’s breath away. Good, merely for the sake of good. But she shook her head, imagining what he would say to _that_ suggestion and what it would do to his fearsome reputation.

 

“Feeling drowsy, dearie?” he asked.

 

“Not in the least.” Belle pulled them into a more brightly lit room, determined to push away her dark thoughts and enjoy his rare contentment. “I believe you promised to show me maps?”

 

So maps she was given, maps with terrain fantastical to her eyes and warnings inked into the corners. “Be wary now,” Rumpelstiltskin giggled, “here be monsters!” They passed another hour amongst those scrolls, Rumpelstiltskin answering her questions as quickly as she could voice them. One map in particular was a beautiful composition of blues and greens, depicting an island that, supposedly, no one could get to.

 

“Well if no one can get to it, then how was the map drawn?”

 

“How remise of me. I should have been more specific. No one can get to it… except _me_.”

 

“You.” Belle gazed open mouthed at the drawing. “ _You_ drew this?”

 

“I am a monster of many talents, dearie,” and he gave a little bow. She was so engrossed in the map that she didn’t even correct him for the ‘monster’ quip. He eventually had to drag her away.

 

“Come! Out of all my library’s treasures there’s one more you must see. Then I will leave you to,” he fluttered his hands distastefully, “read and such.”

 

“Really, Rumpelstiltskin. You cannot expect me to believe that a man with such an _astounding_ library doesn’t like to read!”

 

“Oh, it’s quite alright to wile away the hours. I’ve read them all of course.” He tried to shrug indifferently but ended up smirking at Belle’s stunned expression. “Multiple lifetimes will allow that, dearie. But really it’s such a _stationary_ activity.” He scrunched his face like a child tasting lemons.

 

Despite her complaints, Belle could understand that reasoning, as she’d never actually seen him keep still. He was always pacing, twirling, expressing, playing with trinkets, dancing to music only he could hear. Sitting still with a book would be torture.

 

“If it’s not your preferred form of leisure,” she asked, “then why do you devote such space and luxury to it?”

 

“Because I can!”

 

Belle huffed, arching an eyebrow at the gold laces of his boots and his ostentatious silk shirt. Yes, she could understand that too.

 

“But didn’t you read as a child?” she insisted, unable to comprehend someone who had a library like _this_ at their disposal and not the enthusiasm to go with it. “Surely you enjoyed stories when you were a boy.”

 

Rumpelstiltskin paused, one foot hovering in the air. His face had taken on a peculiar expression; one of befuddlement mixed with unease and… longing? Something hot coiled in Belle’s stomach.

 

“You… were a child once, weren’t you?” she whispered.

 

“Oh yes,” he said, and she breathed again. Rumpelstiltskin’s eyes darted, catching her gaze, but he quickly looked away. Belle noted that he nervously twiddled with the cuff of his shirt. “I was a man, dearie, once upon a time. A child once too.” He gazed off into the distance, looking as if he hoped for confirmation of that. “I couldn’t read though.”

 

“No?” Belle edged closer, placing one hand upon his arm. “You were poor?”

 

“Yes, not all of us were daddy’s little princesses.” The tone was clipped but his eyes jumped back to her hand. He didn’t push it away. “It is a funny thing though. I can’t recall _when_ I learned to read.”

 

“Perhaps you taught yourself at some point?” Belle suggested.

 

“Yes…” Rumplestiltskin didn’t look convinced but then, almost violently, he brightened. “Yes! That must have been it. Silly of me to forget. These things do happen though, when one is as old as I am.”

 

“And when one spends so much time at that spinning wheel.” Belle shook her head at his chuckle. “Well, I for one could never forget my lessons. They are some of my fondest memories as a child. Although, there is something to be said for teaching oneself how to read. You truly are a _man_ of many talents.”

 

“Of course…” Rumpelstiltskin missed Belle’s correction, starring off again as he was. Yet in a moment he shook his head vigorously, as if clearing it of cobwebs. He gave her a grin and ushered them further down the hall.

 

“Here we are.” With an excited squeal Rumpelstiltskin pushed open a door nestled between two shelves. The wood was nearly the same color as the wall and had he not been there to guide her, Belle may never have found it. He bowed her inside, giving gentle, eager pushes against her back.

 

“I’m going!” Belle laughed, but her amusement caught in her throat and what came back out was only a stuttering sigh.

 

“Rumple,” she breathed, “what is this place?”

 

‘What’ was certainly the correct word, for Belle felt as if she had entered another realm entirely; one where the natural laws of her world no longer applied. There were certainly books, but ones unlike any she had seen before. They glowed in the relative darkness of the room, their colors strangely vibrant. Some of the colors… she didn’t even have names for them. Her eyes skirted across the volumes, flicking away one moment as her mind realized it couldn’t process what it saw, but then drawing back again in fascination. Unbidden she reached a hand out, not knowing what she meant to touch or if she even could.

 

“Rumple…”

 

There was movement. Everywhere. From her earliest moments Belle knew that libraries were places of stillness, heavy air, and silence. But this room… it hummed with energy. The flames of the torches danced without wind and the smoke twisted itself into fabulous patterns along the ceiling. The shelves creaked, the wood straining and settling in hypnotic rhythms. And the books… they vibrated with life. Belle watched their spines closely, waiting for them to actually move—fly off the shelves or open their pages. She didn’t see this, but she knew, somehow, that they _could._ This, this was definitely a place she could see the great Rumpelstiltskin reading in: a place of power

 

It was a long time before Belle could tear her eyes away and when she did she found Rumpelstiltskin leaning comfortably against the wall. He arched a grin at her expression.

 

“This, dearie, is where I keep my _special_ collection.” He said ‘special’ the way Belle had heard him use it for her, back when he claimed her as compensation for their deal. The implication, that she could be compared to this room of marvels, made her blush.

 

“Here,” he said, waving a hand, “I keep my most important books. Those I hold most dear. Can you guess?”

 

“Magic,” Belle whispered.

 

“Ehe! S-o-o clever.” Rumpelstiltskin pulled a volume from the nearest shelf and presented it to her. Belle, shaking with longing, made to touch, but the book was immediately pulled out of her reach.

 

“Ah, ah, ah. You’ll need to do better than that.” He stroked the spine of his book and it seemed to purr, falling open to reveal words in a language she did not know. Yet Belle did know, instinctively, that these were spells. The ink quivered as if it wanted to leap off the page and work wonders in their world.

 

“You see magic is a finicky mistress,” Rumpelstiltskin said. “It demands so much time and attention. Almost more than I can spare! But above all,” he held out a warning finger, wagging it under her nose, “magic demands respect. Curtsey, Belle.”

 

“Curtsey?” She was getting used to the room now. Some of the awe was waning and Belle found herself capable of laughter. “To a book?”

 

“Oh yes,” as if to demonstrate his point Rumpelstiltskin gave a deep bow before replacing the volume. “It’s only polite, dearie. I don’t jest,” he cast her a stern look, noting that her lips still quivered. Belle quickly grew somber under his reproach. “I’ve been incredibly kind to a mere maid, haven’t I?” His words were again sharp but his tone lacked its usual bite. If anything, he sounded defensive. “Given you much? Lessons, gowns, sweets, permission to write to that oaf of a father,” his lips curled “and now a library! I am most certainly generous.”

 

“You are.” Belle said it strongly, determined to reassure the man who was hiding behind the beast.

 

“Yes. But this, I didn’t need to give. You would have never found this room without my help.” True enough. “So heed my warning: always be courteous, always be polite. Speak no ill will in this room and none shall befall you. Be respectful, dearie. Magic demands nothing less.”

 

“Very well,” and feeling only slightly foolish Belle turned to a shelf, dropping into a deep curtsey. “Though I must ask,” she said to the floor, “does ‘speaking no ill will’ extend to calling my father an oaf?”

 

“Humph.” Rumpelstiltskin turned away but she could have sworn she heard him mutter something about magic also demanding truth. “Well there you have it! The jewel atop the crown. I assure you, you will find no finer library in this realm. Are you pleased?”

 

“Oh yes!” Belle couldn’t help herself. Rushing forward she danced on tiptoes to kiss his cheek, immediately feeling as if she had acted too wildly in such a reverent place. Yet she did not regret it, not when Rumpelstiltskin was lifting a hand to his face with an expression that resembled shock.

 

“Though I admit,” Belle said, looking about, “I do not know how much use I will have for magic books.” She’d seen first hand how magic could corrupt or, just as frightening, become a crutch for its user. She was happy to allow Rumpelstiltskin to summon their tea or keep her dry from the rain, but she, personally, wanted no more part in wielding magic. She’d done enough already.

 

“Well, it’s here if you want it, dearie.” Rumpelstiltskin still had a hand to his cheek, his voice rougher than she was used to hearing. Edging towards the door he nearly stumbled over air. “I’ll, uh, let you get to your reading, yes?”

 

“Rumple!”

 

He stopped but didn’t turn. On hand fluttered against the doorjamb.

 

“Thank you. Really. This… it means a great deal to me. More than I think you can imagine. My mother…” Belle paused, smiling sadly at his back. “I’m told my mother was very fond of books. I enjoy reading for more reasons than entertainment or knowledge. And you are right. I was given to you as a maid but you’ve treated me like a princess.” His shoulders straightened a bit at that. “This library…it’s _wonderful._ ”

 

They stood in silence together—a beauty and a beast breathing in synch.

 

“… You’re welcome,” he said and then he was gone. Rumpelstiltskin forwent the doorway for a puff of smoke.

 

Belle shook her head, smiling. Really, what would her village think? She imagined the conversations, assuring her people that the feared Dark One could be made as uncomfortable as any man, awkward under a woman’s gaze and fleeing at kind words. No doubt they would think her mad.

 

Yet she had seen that emotion, then, now, and time and again as her days with him piled up. Belle recalled clearly his mercy towards Robin Hood, the beautiful chamber he gave her when the dungeon was deemed too drafty (“Need to keep you healthy, dearie!”), his arms frantic to catch her as she fell from the ladder, his back relaxing moments ago as Belle assured him of her contentment. These were soft moments, fleeting amidst his giggling recollections of the horrors he’d committed, but for now they were enough. Belle also recalled sitting beside him on the hall’s grand table, barely breathing lest she scare him off. He’d spoken of a _son._ More importantly, she’d seen that Rumpelstiltskin had kept the boy’s things; treasured in a room that bore the air of a shrine. That was not the action of a monster. No man could treasure a child so deeply, not without some light left in his heart. And light, though fragile, could always grow into brilliance.

 

Now this.

 

Belle spun, taking in the magic room and the hundreds of books that waited outside. She’d have to be careful. The world no doubt mourned her, the sacrificial princess, condemned to eternity with the Dark One, yet here she was, in danger only of being spoiled rotten.

 

“I fear that I spoke the truth earlier,” she said to the room, telling herself firmly that this was not foolishness. Rather, Belle would swear that things settled, that the books were listening to her. “I would never shun any knowledge, but I really have no use for magical books. I prefer the more boring variety.” A sudden gust blew about, ruffling her dress and tossing her curls. Instinctively, Belle knew the room to be pouting.

 

“Please don’t be upset,” she said. “I meant no offence. But I really think I’ll be starting with those biographies.” Belle laughed freely as another gust blew through. It was a harsh wind, but it did urge her gently towards the door. “Don’t worry. I’m sure I’ll be back!” she called, dropping a courtesy before slipping outside.

 

In the end, Belle hadn’t started with the biographies, but rather with a dark corner devoted to the domestic arts. Although, “devoted” was perhaps a bit of a stretch. There were all of five volumes, three of which were on the proper care of leathers and silks (Belle was learning quickly that for all his uneasiness about his appearance, Rumpelstiltskin took great pride in his wardrobe. Perhaps a bit _too_ much pride.) The other two books covered sewing, but not in a manner that was useful to her. One book Belle was convinced came from another realm, what with its discussion of mushrooms and their size changing properties. The second, she was positively horrified to find, dealt with the preparation of certain meats she would _never_ be partaking of.

 

Less than a day after being given her library Belle stormed into the great hall. Rumpelstiltskin was seated at the table and, unrepentantly, she threw _The Slow Cooked Child_ into his lap.

 

“ _What is this_?” She hissed the words at him, gesturing wildly at the volume.

 

Rumpelstiltskin had the good grace to flinch, though whether it was due to shame or at her out of character treatment of a book, she couldn’t be sure.

 

“Why, it’s a cookbook, dearie. I thought you could read.” He’d recovered nicely, reclining in a supposedly indifferent manner. Belle noted that he wouldn’t meet her eyes though.

 

“A cookbook on preparing _children_?”

 

“Well, not just children…” he trailed off.

 

Belle shook her head, fisting one trembling hand against her mouth. “I cannot believe that you would own such a thing,” she whispered.

 

Which was surely the wrong thing to say. Instantly Rumpelstiltskin was out of his chair, an inch from her face, and wearing an aura of power so great it blanketed them both. He was every bit the imp, arms held loftily as he graced her with a mocking bow.

 

“You can’t _believe_ , my lady? Oh ho! Believe it! Tell me, who exactly do you think I am that I _wouldn’t_ have such a treasure in my collection?”

 

He slithered even closer, breath harsh against her face, and Belle found herself trembling. She was sure, consciously, that he would not harm her but her body had yet to be convinced.

 

“You forget yourself.” Rumpelstiltskin growled. “What? Did you think everything in that library would be fairy tales and happy endings? I’m no prince, dearie. No _hero._ ” He actually ran a blackened nail across his tongue, as if the word held a terrible aftertaste. “Did I save your insignificant village out of the goodness of my heart? No. _You_ were the price, my dear! And I was in a good mood that day. Oh yes I was so generous! I’ve done things that would fill your pretty little head with such nightmares, you’d go mad within one night. I’m the Dark One, or have you forgotten?”

 

“It sounds as if you’re trying to convince yourself as much as me,” Belle said, but nevertheless her voice shook. She squeaked as one hand clawed against her arm. “You’re not evil!”

 

“Really?” The hated book disappeared from the table and reappeared in his hand. Holding one edge, Rumpelstiltskin dangled it under her nose. “Have you read it?

 

“Gods, no!”

 

“So many recipes, my dear. There’s one for every morsel: boiling the bones to make stock, strips of thigh in stew, a wonderful little tip about salting a girl’s—”

 

“Stop it!”

 

Rumpelstiltskin’s grin was nothing but malicious. “You say I’m not evil, dearie? Are you suuuure? The evidence says otherwise!”

 

“Well have you _used_ it?”

 

Rumpelstiltskin reared back, just for a moment, and as he did he lost his grip on the book. He snatched it from the air quickly enough, his giggling grin barely slipping… but that was enough for Belle. She straightened, high on adrenaline and daring to take a step forward.

 

“You haven’t, have you?” she snapped. It wasn’t a question. The fear leeched out of Belle’s voice and was replaced with a sarcasm that she’d realize, belatedly, she’d picked up from him. “This is just another one of your ‘quips,’ isn’t it? To scare me? _Well it’s not going to work._ There is a world of difference between playing at monsters and actively being one, Rumple, and so help me, you won’t convince me that I can’t tell the difference!”

 

He really did pull back at that, uncertainty clouding his features. It encouraged Belle to soften her voice even as she crowded him, determined to make herself heard.

 

“Skinning children would _never_ be one of my duties” she insisted, “because you would _never_ harm a child. Would you deny that?” Rumpelstiltskin looked away. “No. I know you wouldn’t. Not when you showed Robin Hood mercy when you realized he was a father.” Belle edged even closer, noting the warmth of his skin even though it looked so cold. “Not when you yourself have a son.”

 

With that said, Belle wanted to take back her earlier accusation and offer him comfort, but Rumpelstiltskin held himself coiled, looking just as ready to bite her as to fall against her. They stood for long minutes, doing nothing but breathing until he finally turned fully away.

 

“Had, dearie.” It was so quiet Belle nearly missed it. “I _had_ a son. But you’re quite right,” his voice strengthened with false cheer and Rumpelstiltskin looked back, determinedly wearing his grin like armor. “I’ve never feasted on a child. They’re too… stringy.” He wrinkled his nose and a breathy chuckle escaped Belle’s lips, due entirely to relief and exhaustion.

 

“Then why…?”

 

“Why? Deals of course. _I_ may not wish to sample a child’s supple flesh but I can assure you, many do. Your ogres for one, dearie. Imagine the scene, had I not saved your precious village.” Belle shivered, the muscles of her stomach clenching at the images that flooded her mind.

 

“If I remember correctly, _I_ saved my village.” She moved to stand beside him once more. “You were going to abandon us, had we not agreed on a price.”

 

“Eh. Quibbles.”

 

“And,” Belle forged ahead, “if there’s one thing I’ve learned about your deals since then, it’s that words, and the absence of words, hold great power.” Rumpelstiltskin eyed her warily. “You say that you keep this book for deals and that many creatures would find use for it, I don’t doubt either statement, but you have said nothing about ever having _made_ such a deal or actually _using_ the book.”

 

Rumpelstiltskin glared. He did look a bit impressed though—grudgingly.

 

“You’re an annoying child,” he snapped. Belle’s lip twitched.

 

“You going to eat me?”

 

He rolled his eyes, throwing the book at her. Belle yelped exaggeratedly, hoping to further lighten the mood. Even so, she was only just able to keep hold of the book and once it was in her arms she kept it from her body, adopting a faint expression of disgust.

 

“I could do far worse than eat you, dearie. I _have_ done far worse. Buuuuuut…”

 

Rumpelstiltskin turned, pointing between Belle and the cookbook. His neck stretched to peer at them both. “A better question” he said, “is what were you doing, poking around where that fascinating volume was stashed? Hmm? What are you up to, dearie?”

 

“You gave me the library.”

 

His eyes narrowed. “I _showed_ you the library. And I thought you’d be reading your happy endings! This isn’t happy!” He fluttered his hands at the text. Honestly. As if she couldn’t see that.

 

“Well,” Belle said, eternally patient. “I was looking for a cookbook.”

 

Rumpelstiltskin blinked. Once.

 

Twice.

 

A couple more times.

 

“… _Why_?”

 

“You did say something about serving your meals,” Belle drawled. “I only thought to make something more elaborate than eggs, porridge, or stew. Surly you must be sick of my feeble attempts by now? As a woman of noble birth, I didn’t exactly learn skills that would be useful to you.” Belle blushed, averting his gaze. “I had hoped to find a simple text on cookery and perhaps surprise you with something tastier than what you’ve been given these past few months.”

 

She peeked up and was relieved to find that Rumpelstiltskin didn’t seem mad at her initiative. If anything, he looked a bit stunned. After an awkward moment Belle felt the need to prompt him: “Do you know where I might find such a book?

 

“… _Oh_.–I mean no!” Rumplestiltskin scowled, but the expression was flimsy at best. “How should I know where cookbooks are?”

 

“It’s your library.”

 

He shook his head like that was the stupidest argument in existence. “I don’t have time for cataloguing, dearie. Besides, I gave the blasted library to you!” Rumpelstiltskin winced at the impassioned admission, so close on the heels of his previous denial. But forged ahead, shooing Belle towards the door. “There we are then, a new duty for you. Go organize _my_ library. I’m sure the books will appreciate your attentions more than I do right now. I would have never gotten a maid had I known it would deny me all rest! Do what you please, just leave me alone, yes? You may even burn this one,” he poked at the volume still cradled in her arms, “if it makes you happy. Or shred it. Or eat it! Oh yes, that would be appropriate. An early lunch!”

 

Belle was nearly out the door, tripping over her gown as Rumpelstiltskin herded her backwards.

 

“But, Rumple,” she gasped, “the library is huge! If it’s not with the other domestic books I— _really_ , Rumple. Don’t you have some idea where—”

 

“No. I don’t. Imagine that. Look everywhere!” and magic poured from his fingers, slamming the door in her face.

 

Belle stood, swaying. Briefly overcome by Rumpelstiltskin’s mercurial nature, she could only breathe. To witness horror, denial, banter, and embarrassment all within a scant few minutes had left her with a tightness in her chest. It was the second time in as many days that Rumpelstiltskin had fled from her and, simply put, Belle did not know how to deal with him. There was no guidebook for this. Truly, how was she to connect with the “monster,” let alone the man he kept hidden underneath? Rumpelstiltskin was a contradiction in countless ways, pushing her back… yet seeking her attention, sweetly gifting her with a library, only to deny it in the same breath. And for her to find such horrifying texts within it…

 

But Belle was learning.

 

So she retreated back to the library and quickly consoled herself that such an action could never be a hardship. She stepped among the books and her smile returned.

 

Rumpelstiltskin avoided her for the next two weeks and, although displeased, Belle put the time to good use. She didn’t burn _The Slow Cooked Child_ (her love of the written word simply wouldn’t allow it)but she did stuff it into the darkest corner she could find in the hopes that it would never come to light again. Then, she didn’t exactly look everywhere, but she made a good stab at it. Working her way from one room to another, Belle trailed her fingers along spines—noting what she wanted to take back to her room, what she’d put aside for later, which books were reminiscent of things she’d already read, which were written in tongues she couldn’t hope to decipher. Every once in a while she’d pluck up a volume and move it to another shelf. Rumpelstiltskin had done a decent enough job of separating by genre, but she could discover no clear order within each section. Most likely, he’d simply tossed the books together as he obtained them; centuries worth of knowledge collected as indifferently as the marbles her village’s children played with each spring. It would take a lifetime and an incredible amount of patience to truly catalogue it all, so for now, Belle contented herself with making small changes here and there.

 

Two weeks of exploration in between her duties to Rumpelstiltskin. Two weeks of palming thousands of books. Two weeks of almost nothing but the written word and still, Belle had yet to find a single text on cooking (minus the scholarship on cannibalism, of course.)

 

“Do you even know if there are any here?” She finally asked in exasperation, withholding his tea until he gave an answer.

 

“Damn the gods, child, you’re like a rat chasing its tail.” Rumpelstiltskin snatched the cup, glaring at her over the rim. “How many times must I say it? I don’t know! Haven’t stepped foot in that place since your ancestors were rounding their wives’ bellies. If I’d known how annoying it would make you I never would have given you the damn thing!”

 

Belle smiled. He kept slipping about the “giving” bit.

 

“Well do you at least remember _obtaining_ any cookbooks?” she pressed. Really, it was getting ridiculous. The man must have at least some knowledge of the things he owned!

 

“Maaaaybe. Maybe not! It’s not as if I ever needed one, dearie.” He twiddled his fingers and two lumps of sugar appeared to drop into his tea. Rumpelstiltskin smirked. “Cooking is for peasants, mortals, and odd little maids. Certainly not the Dark One.”

 

“Huh” Belle murmured, ignoring his arrogance. “Well then. Maybe that’s the way to go about this.”

 

Which was how, seventeen days after receiving her library, Belle found herself once again in the magical room, despite her intentions to avoid it. She had thought to perhaps find cookery books in here–of a sort: how to summon or magically create sustenance, like what Rumpelstiltskin had done with his sugar. Not that Belle would ever use those books, but their existence would suggest that her library well and truly lacked the more traditional texts and, with that question settled, she could turn her attention to convincing Rumplestiltskin to purchase her a cookbook. She would obtain _something_ for her use. Belle was nothing if not determined.

 

Five minutes in she was curtseying as she’d been taught, watching a red volume flutter in response to her politeness, pulling it from the shelf. Belle didn’t know why she’d started here, with this book. It wasn’t even on the first shelf, hidden away as it was three rows down. But upon entering the room she’d gravitated in this direction, inclined to trust her instincts in a magical environment where, quite frankly, she was woefully out of place. Coming to this book had felt… natural. She had to start somewhere.

 

“ _Mistress Lina’s Book of Household Management._ ”

 

Belle whispered the title, frowning. Surprised.

 

She knew of this book, had seen her late mother’s handmaid pouring over it by candlelight. It was, astoundingly, exactly what she was looking for: a guide to both managing an estate and conquering the smaller, more intimate domesticities that were expected of a woman. This would help her become a maid for Rumpelstiltskin and uphold her deal, an exercise that was proving difficult when her father had taught her other than to marry and, when he was particularly doting, to indulge her love of reading.

 

Yet Belle hesitated to open the book, half-expecting that the words would morph into something else upon being exposed to the air. This was _too_ much a convenience, and Belle was no fool. What were the chances that she would immediately stumble across this text, the very thing she’d been looking for? But no. That was the wrong way to think about this. She’d been _drawn_ to the book, gravitating towards it despite the countless other volumes that demanded her attention. Had some tiny part of her recognized it from her childhood? Or had the magic in the room somehow sense what she needed?

 

Regardless of these questions, what was it doing _here_?

 

Belle looked to her left and her right. She saw a book whose spine was encased entirely in gold, another that was so old it may very well crumple if she touched it. Rumpelstiltskin had said that this sanctuary was for the rare, the powerful, and the precious. _Mistress Lina’s Book of Household Management_ fit none of those requirements. It was, Belle knew, a rather dull read, though admittedly one that was useful. If one was a servant, that is. What use had the Dark One for a woman’s guide hidden amongst his magical treasures?

 

Belle was still frowning at the book when she heard steps rushing down the hall.

 

Rumpelstiltskin flew into the room, almost literally. His feet hit the ground with a crack and in the same moment his coat—the most formal and intimidating piece of his attire— appeared out of thin air to wrap about his shoulders. His eyes, wider than usual, searched and locked onto Belle.

 

“You must come,” he breathed.

 

“What—?”

 

“Come!”

 

He snapped his fingers, the sound like steel on steel, and Belle gasped as she felt magic wash over her. She looked down to find that her simple cloth dress had been cleaned of the day’s exertions. It had also been mended of all miniscule tears, looking even better now than it had when she’d first sewn it.

 

“We have a visitor, dearie. Need you looking your best. Or, as good as you can be looking.” Rumpelstiltskin tried to be mocking but his eyes kept flitting nervously towards the door. There was a fine tremor about his whole person.

 

“We need to go,” he repeated, striding forward and tugging at her sleeve. “He’ll be here soon. Very soon. Or maybe he’s already arrived. Damn it all, it’s impossible to know with him!” He gave a final yank and Belle found herself stumbling along, leaving the library abandoned behind her.

 

“Rumple!” His hand tightened on her as they flew through the corridors. He must have added a bit of magic to their step because they reached the main staircase with inhuman speed.

 

“Who is this man?” Belle demanded, voice rising above their hurry. “Hey! Wouldn’t you know if he’d arrived?” Rumpelstiltskin _always_ knew when someone entered or left his territory. It was a talent he’d gleefully reminded Belle of during her entire, first month here. It was clear that if she chose to run Rumpelstiltskin would immediately know and he _would_ find her.

 

“Not this one, dearie,” he panted and Belle was shocked to see sweat beading at the back of his neck. “Can’t know when he’s here unless he is here, but he’s always here so there’s little use in knowing.”

 

“ _What_?”

 

“I know. It’s terribly frustrating.”

 

He suddenly turned, stopping so unexpectedly that Belle flew against his chest with a small shriek. Rumpelstiltskin ignored the intimacy, grasping her wrists and, impossibly, bringing them even closer.

 

“All you need know,” he whispered, “is that I am powerful. But he… he is _infinitely_ more so.” Belle didn’t realize that her mouth had fallen open until one scaled finger rose to close it. “He knows you’re here of course, and it would be quite rude to hide you away, yes?” But Rumpelstiltskin’s eyes jumped to a nearby broom closet, as if he’d thought about doing just that. “So… I need you to sit at my side, looking like just a pretty little bauble,” his thumbs stroked along her wrists, soothingly, “and do _absolutely nothing else._ Understand?”

 

Belle nodded.  

 

“Excellent, my dear. Well done. Now come along.”

 

They raced off again, heading for the great hall. Rumpelstiltskin’s hand found her own and refused to budge, pulling them both towards what, she didn’t know. Belle’s thoughts were chaotic. Her mind was so full and her attention was so focused on not tumbling down the steps that she took no note of _Mistress Lina’s Book of Household Management,_ still tucked, innocently, under her arm.

 


	2. The Guest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, friends! Thank you all SO much for the comments and kudos so far. I hope you enjoy chapter two! :)

Belle expected any number of things when they finally arrived in the great hall. Given the slight tremor she could feel in Rumpelstiltskin’s hand, she could easily picture a true beast waiting for them behind those doors. Something huge, stretching all the way up to the rafters, with a dripping maw and magic that clung to it like noxious fumes. Yet Belle was not nearly so ignorant as she once was and she now knew that power didn’t always come in ominous wrappings. So she was likewise imagining something small, thin, deceptively vulnerable, but with mannerisms that made your skin crawl—much like Rumpelstiltskin himself, when he truly embodied his role as the Dark One. Nestled between these two nightmares was a small part of Belle, just a hope really, that expected the room to be empty.

 

Still, she was quite surprised to find that this was the case.

 

Everything in the hall was still and sunlight streamed merrily through the newly opened curtains. The room had settled, assuring her that no one had set foot inside since their breakfast early that morning.

 

“He must not have arrived yet,” Belle said, letting out a relieved sigh.

 

But Rumpelstiltskin was still holding her hand and his fingers began to tighten, long nails digging into her skin. Belle let out a startled protest.

 

“Sorry, dearie,” he rasped and the hand was dropped. It tightened instead against the side of his breeches. “I am very sorry, but he is most certainly here.”

 

Rumpelstiltskin raised the arm that wasn’t currently forming a fist and pointed towards his spinning wheel. There was nothing there. Nothing but the wheel itself, straw, and, beside the straw, the hourglass Belle had teasingly given him.

 

She’d found it tucked into one of his endless rooms overflowing with trinkets and frustrated by the number of meals he’d missed while hypnotized by his spinning, she had firmly placed the hourglass at his feet. He didn’t actually need it of course. Rumpelstiltskin never missed an appointment he designed to attend, but it did get her message across. He began to consume a decent number of the meals he’d demanded she prepare (though admittedly, there were still numerous complaints…) and every once in a while she would catch him turning the glass, seemingly for his own amusement. Belle hadn’t known what to think, the day she realized that he watched the sand fall with the same intensity that he watched his wheel.

 

Belle didn’t know what the hourglass had to do with their dangerous, elusive guest, but Rumpelstiltskin’s arm remained rigid in the air. So she crept closer.

 

There wasn’t only sand in it (though that sand had, supposedly, been gathered from the shores of Netherland); that was too meager a gift for the Dark One after all. Rather, there were jewels scattered throughout. Precious stones had been ground into various sizes, giving an illusion of a glittering landscape that reminded Belle of the stars. It was one such stone that caused her to gasp, cluing her in to Rumpelstiltskin meaning.

 

A bit of ruby was levitating.

 

It was suspended in the thinnest portion of the funnel, just hanging there. Grains of sand were also floating, circling the gem in sluggish patterns. Belle realized that the ruby hadn’t so much stopped as… hesitated, revolving around itself endlessly. She’s seen plenty of miracles since her arrival at the Dark Castle, but some instinct told Belle that this magic was different. It felt lazy, entirely unlike Rumpelstiltskin’s flamboyancy.

 

Hesitantly, she reached one finger towards the glass.

 

“What—?”

 

“ _Time._ ”

 

Belle shrieked, jumping away from the voice at her ear. She tumbled, sprawling next to the wheel and nearly landing amongst the straw. A _thud_ echoed to her left and, surprised, she saw _Mistress Lina’s_ book skidding away from her. Belle hadn’t even realized that she’d brought it down.

 

“Belle!”

 

That was Rumpelstiltskin’s voice but it still came from across the room, over by the table. It sounded strange. Like he was restraining himself. Startled and winded, a small part of Belle’s mind wondered why he wasn’t coming to help her. Rumpelstiltskin, for all his theatrics, had always been a gentleman.

 

She got her answer with three sharp taps. Three taps of boots on wood before there was a pair of legs in front of her. Belle looked up at a man.

 

“I apologize,” he murmured, reaching out a hand. “It was not my intention to startle you. I also apologize for my layered word choice, as well as the tea. I’m terribly sorry about the tea.”

 

Belle stared. Later, while attempting to sleep, she would speak in her own mind, trying to form a description of their guest. He was for the most part relatively normal looking, which was perhaps his most shocking feature, given her fantasies of fearsome beasts and tricksters that looked disturbingly like Rumpelstiltskin. Belle would recall light skin, brown hair, a tall, slim build, and eyes that may have been dark blue but—more probably, she thinks—were black. Belle would be able to recall these features with ease, but they were just that: features. The whole picture, one of a cohesive person, eluded her.

 

Starring up at this man, what Belle found most frustrating to pinpoint was his age. He looked young at first glance, no older than Gaston, but then his weight changed and he seemed to sink into his bones, as an old man might. His cheeks were smooth but the skin of his neck slackened, his brown hair was still vibrantly colored but it looked to have a softness about it that was only ever achieved with age.  Belle knew what an old man in a young body looked like—that was Rumpelstiltskin—but this was quite different. Rather, she would have simply never been comfortable giving an age to their guest. He might be a new husband or an elder depending on his profile, or the light he stood in.

 

And this fluidity… it didn’t scare Belle, not really. It only… made her uncomfortable. Like when she’d first seen Rumpelstiltskin seated in her father’s chair and had gotten a good look at his skin: it was different, and with that difference came unease. But it wasn’t _bad_. This man’s entire presence had that feeling. There was no terror for her physical safety, but Belle felt like their two beings didn’t compute; as if for _her_ to be next to _him_ was breaking a thousand natural laws that she had no right to be messing with.

 

Yet he still held out a hand, patiently waiting for her to not just look upon him, but touch him.

 

Belle accepted the offer.

 

“There we are,” he said, sweeping her to her feet. His voice was soft and sleepy. “No harm done I hope? But we cannot truly be acquainted until we put the past behind his.” He smiled widely, like he’d just remembered a private joke. “Do you accept my apologies?”

 

“Your…? Oh!” Belle recalled his words to her while she was still at his feet. “Yes, yes of course. It was my own clumsiness really.” His gaze sharpened and Belle ducked her head, feeling like a child caught in a lie. “I’m fine, truly, but—” Belle paused, brow furrowed as she remembered the rest. “You said, ‘layered meanings’ was it…?”

 

“Ah.” He bowed and Belle was startled to see that he swept a great cloak behind him. She hadn’t even realized he’d been wearing one. “It is a terrible habit of mine; using few words for many purposes. Though I find that it saves… time.” He smiled again, though Belle did not understand the joke.

 

“Time,” he repeated. “That was both an explanation and an introduction. The sand,” he gestured to the hourglass, “is suspended because of a disturbance in time because I, dear lady,” he bowed again, sweeping low over the hand he still held, “ _am_ Time.”

 

“ _Oh_.” Belle squeaked.

 

Well then.

 

“Ahem.”

 

Belle turned with a little jump, snatching her hand from the man’s (man? Creature? Concept? Dimension??) grasp. Rumpelstiltskin stood apart, his face twitching between befuddlement and respect. When their guest did not berate him for the interruption Rumpelstiltskin moved closer, gliding silently across the floor.

 

“Lord Time,” he said, giving his own low bow. “It is an honor to receive you in my home once again.” He took Time’s fingers, like he might a lady’s, but instead of kissing them he merely held them a moment, black nails striking against lightened skin before he delicately let go. Time nodded his head in acknowledgement of the gesture.

 

Belle starred.

 

She’d never seen Rumpelstiltskin so… polite before; so _normal._ Like blowing out a candle his entire temperament had changed, toning down what was normally a mischievous, sinister, and above all, exaggerated performance. There were no high-pitched giggles or excited gestures. Rather, Rumpelstiltskin merely straightened and folded his hands behind his back, gazing at them with a neutral expression, almost as if… as if he were awaiting orders. Like a _servant._

That’s when it really hit Belle; what it was that had just waltzed into their home. Hell and damnation. This was _Time._

 

“Oh,” she said again, feeling a bit lightheaded.

 

“I believe the lady should sit.” Time took her elbow and led her over to the table, gesturing for her to take the padded chair. Belle didn’t dare refuse. She sat, gazing between Time, who’d taken the seat across from her, and Rumpelstiltskin, whose eyes danced nervously while the rest of his body remained unnaturally still.

 

“Here,” Time turned his wrist and _Mistress Lina’s_ book rested in his palm. Belle jumped a bit, used to the smoke and sound of Rumpelstiltskin’s summoning’s. She dared to glance back towards the wheel and the book there was indeed gone.

 

“It was not my intention to startle you,” he said again, pushing the book across to her.

 

“Y-yes. You’ve said.” Belle grabbed the book, already feeling stronger with a familiar weight in her hands. “Thank you.”

 

“Ah,” Time said. “That’s another bad habit of mine, I’m afraid. Time does have a tendency to repeat itself.”

 

Rumpelstiltskin winced.

 

A silence fell among the trio.

 

Belle didn’t know what to think, let alone what to do. Hadn’t she just been browsing the library moments before? A new pastime here, admittedly, but one that was certainly more familiar than this _._ Could Rumpelstiltskin really have barged in, wild eyed and stuttering over a guest? A guest that was the equivalent of a _god_? Had she truly fallen? Held this being’s hand for a moment? Been given back her book? Belle touched the leather hesitantly, the texture too detailed for a dream. Yet perhaps she _had_ taken a tumble and this was all some vivid, extraordinary delusion.

 

If she did dream, Belle congratulated herself on an unparalleled imagination. She would never have thought of Time in such a manner: dressed in boots, cloak, and a skin whose age she could not determine, no matter how long she stared.

 

Well, that question at least was answered. She supposed Time would represent all stages of life. It made as much sense as anything else.

 

“You know Rumpelstiltskin?” Belle asked, when it was clear that no one else would speak. She would freely admit that her voice was a trembling whisper, but it was pointless to sit here, waiting for the courage to address such a creature. It wouldn’t come. So, do the brave thing. Only then would bravery follow.

 

“You speak very bluntly,” was Time’s response. To her right, Rumpelstiltskin stopped breathing, but he quickly went on: “That’s a trait to be admired,” and both residents of the Dark Castle let out sighs of relief.

 

Belle blushed, shrugging as naturally as she could.

 

“It’s only that Rumpelstiltskin said he was happy to have you here _again_.. _._ ”

 

“Observant too! My, my, Dark One, wherever did you find such a treasure?” But the way Time said it implied that he knew _exactly_ how they had found one another. And surely, wasn’t that to be expected? With some of the tension dissipating, Belle found her curiosity rushing back full force. How did a being like Time see the world? Did he know everything? And what did he want with Rumpelstiltskin?

 

“You’re quite right, my lady. Your employer and I have known each other a long time.” His lips twitched, perpetually amused at his own jokes. “He has the Sight, after all. Well, a bit of it anyway.” Belle looked, but Rumpelstiltskin was scowling down at his palms, like he expected to see something there. “There’s just enough for humorous and somewhat useful details to make themselves known to him, and certainly enough to tie him to me.” If anything, Rumpelstiltskin looked even less happy at that. “He has also spent much of his existence involved in the ogre wars, which, as I’m sure you’re aware, have lasted for numerous generations.”

 

Belle nodded. It was a fact gleaned from any history book.

 

“Anyone involved with an event that is so intertwined with me—” he spread his hands, “—Time— is bound to cross my path in a more embodied manner,” he made a sweeping gesture to indicate his whole, physical form, “at least once in the proverbial blue moon. Your employer is old, my lady. Well…” he nodded his head in a remarkably child-like gesture, back and forth, up and down. “Old compared to _some._ You could say we are… acquaintances.”

 

“And what exactly is it I can do for you, _acquaintance_?”

 

Rumpelstiltskin’s voice came sharp across the table. It was still respectful—a smooth, even tone— but there was a high-pitched crack at the end, a bit of the imp peeking through. Belle saw Rumpelstiltskin’s long nails digging into the wood, though whether the tension stemmed from irritation or residual nervousness, she couldn’t be sure.

 

Time, luckily, didn’t seem offended.

 

“I want very little, Dark One. After all, it is difficult to crave things when you have all the time to obtain them.” He laughed at that quip. Glancing at Belle he made it clear that the humor was for her. Rumpelstiltskin certainly wasn’t laughing, but Belle did try to give a shaky smile in return.

 

“Right now?” Time said, “I would very much care for some tea—”

 

_Crack!_

Belle jumped in her seat, _Mistress Linton’s_ book slipping from her fingers. A pot of tea had materialized between the three of them, along with every confectionery known to the Enchanted Forest (and perhaps a few that weren’t). Rumpelstiltskin still held his fingers together where he’d snapped them but they slowly unfurled and he gestured for them to help themselves. Time, to his credit, only looked amused at his host’s peevish behavior.

 

He gazed at the offering. “I thank you, Rumpelstiltskin, but if it’s not too much trouble I would prefer something with a bit more… substance.” His lips puckered briefly and Belle stared, trying to determine if it made him look like an old man or a babe. “I find magically conjured food to be bland and it’s so rare that I take a corporeal form. Do you mind?”

 

Rumpelstiltskin let out a low growl. It wasn’t exactly audible, but Belle felt it reverberating through the wood.

 

What had happened here? Belle’s eyes tracked from one man to the other. Rumpelstiltskin had been beside himself in the library, nearly terrified. She had fully expected to find someone not only powerful, but also cruel, and yet here these two sat, silently bickering like schoolboys. He was Time, yes, (she was still very much wrapping her mind around that concept) but was that something that should frighten her? An old widow of her village, Bayleen, had found joy only in dispensing wisdom and she had oft repeated that only fools feared the passage of time. It was wisdom indeed, but she’d never sat across from him, listening to the man tease and make frankly terrible puns!

 

Yet for all his pleasant quips, there were reminders of his… otherness. Time smiled and charmed but he couldn’t hide who he was. There was still no clear expression to his face, something that disturbed Belle greatly, and his cloak, so black against the red of the chair’s cushion, looked as if it might swallow her whole. Belle had accepted Bayleen’s words whenever they were offered. One _shouldn’t_ fear time, yet only a true fool would take the advice of a peasant woman over that of Rumpelstiltskin. He had warned her to beware of their guest and she would do well to heed that warning.

 

Belle dared a quick look. 

 

Rumpelstiltskin’s nails were still digging into the table, making deep scores in the wood. Belle knew what his anger looked like, and this wasn’t it. She also knew that Rumpelstiltskin had a tendency to wrap himself in other emotions when nervous—jokes, flamboyance, indifference, anger at a simple request for tea…

 

Rumpelstiltskin was scared.

 

Time immediately picked up on the new tension. He nodded towards the teapot and then locked eyes with Belle.

 

“Perhaps, my lady,” he said. “You would be so kind as to fetch us some?”

 

“She’s—”

 

“Only a maid,” Time interrupted. Rumpelstiltskin’s mouth snapped shut. “Surely she couldn’t be anything more? Hmm?” His gaze returned to Belle.

 

_Be a pretty bauble_ , Rumpelstiltskin had said. _Do nothing else._ Despite the innocence of the task, Belle was keenly aware that fetching tea would be definitely count as ‘something else.’

 

She looked fully at Rumpelstiltskin now. The muscles of his neck were twitching, like he wanted to tell her ‘no,’ but didn’t dare.

 

How was she to refuse?

 

“I’d be happy to fetch us some tea,” Belle said. She replaced her book heavily on the table and stood, her chair making an obscene amount of noise in the quiet room.

 

Belle then hurried on weak legs towards the kitchen, determined as she went not to look back.

***

 

Tea, thank the gods, was something she understood.

 

There were certainly advantages to living in the Dark Castle, one of which was the food. Oh, not Rumpelstiltskin’s ability to conjure it (for Time was quite right, magical food was _horrid_ ) but rather it was the exchange the castle had going with numerous villages. Rumpelstiltskin had explained it to her once. Sometimes, while out making deals, he would come across craftsmen with particularly fine wears – cakes with delicate frostings, meats from the fiercest beasts, berries grown on temperamental bushes, flour ground fine through secretive means… anything at all really, and if he wanted it, he’d have it. Rumpelstiltskin was nothing without his deals, so many men and women found themselves putting aside a portion of their product each market day. Through a complex and ingeniously designed spell (or so Rumpelstiltskin claimed) the castle sensed when such food was being offered, summoned it to the larder, and replaced it with finely spun gold or another, equal form of payment. These men and women were given more than enough to support their families with while Rumpelstiltskin, and now Belle herself, feasted like royalty.

 

It was a somewhat humbling arrangement, given that the only part of the pantry untouched by decadence was a small cupboard housing tea. In this, it seemed, Rumpelstiltskin preferred simplicity: leaves, water, sugar—all served piping hot. He’d even come to prefer his brew in that chipped cup, of all things. An odd quirk, given the luxury of everything else here, yet right now the normality of it all was nearly enough to make Belle weep.

 

Her hands shook as she removed the kettle. Just a bit.

 

Honestly, this was hardly what she’d expected when she agreed to go with Rumpelstiltskin. Of course, if asked she wouldn’t have been able to say _what_ she expected, but it certainly wasn’t this. Serving tea to the most powerful sorcerer in all the realms was one thing, serving it to the most powerful sorcerer who danced around her like an awkward schoolboy as well as his odd acquaintance who, oh yes, just _happened_ to be the embodiment of time—that was something else entirely!

 

Belle huffed, hefting the laden tray. Irritation was easier to deal with than fear, so she summoned all the irritation she could muster.

 

Luckily, when Belle returned to the hall some time later she found the two men in stilted, but not heated, conversation. Rumpelstiltskin was gesturing a bit more expansively now and Time sat just as quietly, listening while fingering his cloak.

 

“Ah,” he said when Belle approached. “Thank you, my lady.”

 

“You are welcome, Lord Time.”

 

“Oh none of that, none of that. Just ‘Time’ will suffice.”

 

“Of course.” Belle smiled but didn’t make eye contact for long. Rumpelstiltskin looked to be more in control of the situation but she didn’t miss how he steered her into a different chair, one directly next to his own.

 

Time noticed it too. “Don’t forget your book,” he said, and pushed the volume across to her.

 

“… Thank you.”

 

“Not at all.”

 

“Now that there’s _tea_ ,” Rumpelstiltskin said, tone balanced precariously between an observation and a sneer, “perhaps we can get down to business?”

 

“Certainly.” Time made as if to take a cake but then changed direction, pointing at Rumpelstiltskin instead. “I am in need of your assistance, Dark One. I require something.” He hemmed and hawed a moment. “Well, two somethings, actually.”

 

“From _moi_?” Rumpelstiltskin drew a hand to his breast, the theatricality coming back in full.

 

“Humility doesn’t suit you, _Spinner_.” Time said the words lightly, but just like that, Rumpelstiltskin’s brazenness was gone. That name caused him to scowl again, dropping his veil of confidence like it was burning hot. “And yes, I do have need of you. Both of you.”

 

“Both?” Belle squeaked. At the same time that Rumpelstiltskin gave an inarticulate, but clearly negative, shout.

 

“ _Hush_ , _Spinner_ ,” Time flicked his head and Rumpelstiltskin immediately sat again, his breathing heavy. He glared, casting desperate glances Belle’s way, but didn’t seem willing—or able—to object any further. Belle tried to still him with a hasty gesture. After all, it would not due to anger this guest and they had yet to even hear what Time would ask of them.

 

“Me?” Belle asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

 

“Of course, my lady. I may be acquainted with all, but do you think I would pay you mind unless you could serve me in some manner?”

 

Ouch. Well, he did have a point.

 

“Yes, I fear there is a mistake that needs correcting.” Time drew his chin down, causing his cloak to cover him near completely. “And yet… no,” he said, “‘mistake’ is not truly the word. There are no mistakes in time, for I am inherently circular, yet there are ripples; rough edges that I would prefer to smooth out.”

 

“I don’t understand,” Belle admitted. Rumpelstiltskin looked just as frustrated, growling at the philosophy.

 

“Of course you don’t,” he said with a shrug. “It’s not something you’re _meant_ to understand. Here: I knew a man once—well, I do know him, I will know him,” Time grinned. “And he is, was, and will be able to understand my existence far better than most. I quite like him. The way he put it— what was it...?” he swirled his wrists, as if he could conjure the words right out of the air. “Ah! Yes, that’s it! According to him I am a ‘great big ball of wibbly wobbly, time-y wimey stuff.’” Time continued to grin, until the smile overtook his face. “I must admit, having known all who came before and after him, I still find his description to be one of the most accurate.”

 

Belle stared. “I don’t—”

 

“Understand. I know, my lady, don’t fret over it. Perhaps we should start with the second thing I require. That would be easier, yes? I seek an object. Specifically, a gift.”

 

“That, Time, _I_ can dealwith.” Rumpelstiltskin gave his own smile, but it had a feral tint to it now. “I have many treasures that would make fine gifts, should you care to take them. However, she—” he pointed a darkened claw at Belle, “— is merely the maid and has nothing to offer one such as yourself. I do not see why she must be involved.”

 

“If she is merely a maid then why do you fight for her so?” Time waved his hand at whatever Rumpelstiltskin might have said and politely did not comment on Belle’s blush. “In this I only seek her opinion. You, my lady,” he said, turning back to Belle. “You are a fair, young woman.” Her blush deepened. “You must have some idea what another fair, young girl might covet, far better than the Dark One, surely!”

 

Despite the oddness of the situation, and her residual fear, Belle found herself giving the tiniest chuckle. Yes, _Rumpelstiltskin_ and _gifts for maidens_ weren’t exactly ideas that went hand in hand. 

 

“So…” Belle said slowly. “If I understand you correctly, you only seek my advice on a gift… for a lady?”

 

“Quite.”

 

“That does seem simple enough…”

 

“Indeed.”

 

Rumpelstiltskin looked as wary as she felt.

 

“Then… I suppose… certainly. I would be happy to help.”

 

“Wonderful!” and Time clapped his hands, looking again the child, but one trapped in an endless stream of ages. “So, my dear,” and didn’t Rumpelstiltskin glare at _that_ address. “What would you suggest?”

 

Belle traced the cover of _Mistress Linton’s_ book, anything not to look at Time while asking this. “Ah… well, it would perhaps be easier to dispense with advice if I knew a bit about this girl. Is she perhaps…?” Belle winced. “That is, someone that you…” She waved one hand indicatively.

 

“Not in the least,” Time said, looking every bit as if he wished to laugh at her. Belle was exceedingly glad he didn’t. “In fact, when she receives this gift she will still very much be a child. By your standard, you understand, not mine.”

 

“Of course. Of course. I just thought… never mind. Well, does she like to read?” Belle held up her book hopefully. Rumpelstiltskin snorted.

 

“I fear not. She has little patience for any text lacking in pictures. In fact, she has very few redeeming qualities at all. Heaven only knows why I bother with her, it’s not as if she deserves my _time_.” Time leaned back in his chair, as if he hoped to find the answers to his questions on their ceiling. “Perhaps it’s Jefferson,” he murmured, seemingly to himself. “He’s always been terribly fond of her…”

 

“Surely she must be good at something,” Belle interrupted.

 

“Talking,” Time drawled. He leaned forward again, finally reaching for the tea set. He took his time preparing a cup, pouring the steaming water luxuriously (though Belle could have sworn it should be cold by now.)

 

“About?” She finally prompted.

 

“Hmm…” He took sugar and a slice of lemon. “School lessons, for one. Her sister. These odd little dreams she has…”

 

Belle brightened. “Well! If she enjoys—”

 

“ _Oh!_ ”

 

Time’s cloak, truly enormous on his thin frame, swept forward as he reached for a spoon. The color (or rather, the lack thereof) still disturbed Belle, but other than that it looked like any other cloak, with trim and fine fabric… that is, until it made contact with the tea tray. The cloak had _weight._ The material connected with the pot, but instead of brushing away it sent the ceramic flying, bouncing once before it shattered. The cakes were swept away—Belle would swear a few actually disappeared inside the cloak—and Time’s cup, so neatly filled, tumbled into her lap.

 

Belle gasped, cringing away from the hot water that now stained her dress. Instinctively, she raised her book high to save the paper.

 

“ _You_ —” Rumpelstiltskin bit off whatever foul name he was about to call their guest. Instead he stood jerkily, summoning a cloth and handkerchief.

 

But Time was already there.

 

One minute he was across the table, the next he was kneeling at Belle’s feet—far, _far_ too close. Ignoring the firm shake of her head, Time took the edge of his cloak and drew it across her chest. Belle gasped again, this time at the penetrating, endless cold that sank into her skin at the fabric’s touch. Time lowered his arm quickly, but the cold remained, a sensation far more extensive than anything that could be attributed to the hot water’s sudden removal.

 

“My deepest apologies,” Time murmured, two fingers lightly touching her wrist. “I’m terribly sorry about the tea.”

 

Belle’s limbs shook, her teeth clenched, she felt as if she’d been dumped into a snow bank. She was so focused on her physical discomfort that she didn’t immediately process Time’s words. When she did, Belle knew her eyes were widening, something—she knew not what yet—but something dreadful was sliding into place.

 

“You— you’ve said that before.” Her eyes jumped to the spinning wheel, where she’d taken her fall. “You said…”

 

“Yes. I said that before, my lady. Before it happened. Circular, as I said. A temporal loop, if you will. I needed you connected with a paradox in order for this to work.”

 

“For _what_ to—Rumple!”

 

And Rumpelstiltskin was there, but not in any way that could help Belle. She looked and found him still rising from his chair, the conjured towel falling in slow motion over his arm, still snatching the handkerchief with his other hand. Time was slowing down; _Time_ had slowed him down, and Belle was struck with the horrifying understanding of what he could do to her, considering what he’d just done to the man who called himself _Dark One._

 

Time makes fools of us all, indeed.

 

But Belle was nothing if not brave. Or, at the very least, she could believe that foolishness was a kind of bravery. So Belle lifted her chin and snatched her hand from a being she couldn’t possibly fight against, but one she intended to fight regardless.

 

“Let him go,” she hissed.

 

“I assure you, my lady, he is perfectly—”

 

“Let him go!”

 

Time tilted his head, but his expression—as much as she could decipher—quickly smoothed into another smile. It wasn’t at all malicious, but Belle was still shaking with cold and a voice was screaming in her mind that though she didn’t feel threatened by that smile, she _should._

 

All at once Belle had a vivid image of little Ria, the kitten of a child in her village that had gotten caught under a wagon wheel. The dear thing’s back had snapped, legs mangled, but it had lived, and the naive child had kept Ria alive with an endless stream of milk and herbs. The village’s dearest had tortured another creature for months, all because she loved that beast and couldn’t bear to part with it. Belle learned then that not all cruelty stemmed from hatred, and Time, gazing up at her, had the look of that child about his eyes.

 

“I mean neither of you any harm,” he said seriously, confirming Belle’s thoughts. “But that does not mean that harm will not befall you.”

 

He took her hand and this time Belle let him, though it felt like clutching ice. His fingers ghosted over her knuckles in what he probably thought was a soothing gesture.

 

“I’m sorry.” He said. “Truly.”

 

She believed him.

 

“You are something extraordinary, Belle. That’s high praise indeed from the likes of me. I can see why he loves you.” Time didn’t give her the chance to respond to those words, raising his voice to drown out her own. “That little… _something_ , Belle, it will help you. Just smooth things over, as a favor to me. Yes?”

 

The cold intensified, forcing Belle to hunch in on herself.

 

“No,” she whispered. “Time—please—”

 

“Everything will work out, you’ll see. And here, a gift before you go. It’s not often that I take orders, my lady.”

 

Time waved his hand and suddenly Rumpelstiltskin was released. He stumbled a moment, catching up with them, but then his eyes found Belle’s. She could tell the moment he realized something was amiss, his gaze jumping from Time kneeling at her feet to her own, shaking form.

 

“Belle,” he said, and rage unlike anything she’d ever seen began to fill him. With a roar that truly made him seem the beast he claimed to be, Rumpelstiltskin leapt. But Time, as always, was faster.

 

He stood in a blur and clasped an iron hand to her forehead. Belle felt a cold so intense that she arched, shrieking with pain. Dimly, as her vision began to darken, Belle thought she heard Time whispering in her ear.

 

“Oh, and bring back something nice for Alice? There’s a good girl.”

 

Then she was falling, the words crystalizing as she grew colder and the air about her grew blacker. The last thing Belle saw was Time standing over her and Rumpelstiltskin behind him. His arm was outstretched, one finger almost brushing her sleeve, but ultimately his attempts to reach her proved far too slow. 

 


	3. The Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I just say how pleased I am that the rumbelle fandom has Whovians to catch the stupid quotes I throw into this fic? :D

Belle woke up cold.

 

Her arms, pinned at her sides, drew close to her body while her knees bent in an attempt to do the same. Her skin felt tight, her hair heavy against her cheek. There were needles threading themselves through her toes and fingers. In fact, Belle was so cold that she was tempted to just black out again ( _again? Why again?_ ) and perhaps she would have, if it weren’t for two things:

 

  1.      There was screaming.



 

  1.      There was _heat._



 

The sudden warmth at her back was so startling that Belle gasped, inhaling a mouthful of snow. _That_ woke her up. She coughed, ice trickling down her throat. That extra bit of cold kick-started her shivering, but it also soothed some of her thirst. She gulped more, mindlessly catching a strand of hair between her teeth and sucking the moisture from it.

 

Only when she’d satisfied some of her thirst did Belle come back to herself. For long moments she sat in a snow bank, freezing, bewildered, grasping at fragments in her mind ( _the library, she’d fallen, there was a guest…_ ). It took Belle quite a bit of time to realize that the screaming she heard wasn’t the same as the pounding in her head and the heat she felt was no campfire. Belle turned.

 

She saw a village. Such a little thing, but it filled her with profound relief. A village meant civilization, that she wasn’t lost in the woods, at the mercy of wolves and who knew what else. But that relief was short lived. Belle felt heat again on her right cheek and turned to find a building—a barn—partially ablaze. The fire roared, mercilessly eating away at wood and straw and for just a second, Belle felt guilty for basking in its warmth.

 

“ _Dai!_ ”

The call was a whip crack amongst the clamor. A young man came running. Despite the cold, his arms were bare and Belle could see muscles that told of time spent doing hard labor. He carried two mismatched shovels with him and upon reaching the barn he threw one to an older man with the same jaw—father and son then. They set to work, shoveling snow directly onto the blaze. Other men began to join in, desperately trying to quell the fire before it got out of hand.

 

Seeing someone take action helped to clear the wool from Belle’s mind. She staggered to her feet, willing her legs to hold her. Another man ran past with a small bucket and nearly knocked her back down, though she managed to lock her knees in time.

 

“Help—”

 

Belle croaked, but the man didn’t turn; her voice was drowned out by the other, more horrifying noises.

 

As her vision cleared Belle began to notice more townspeople, most standing on the sidelines, many of them crying out. None of them noticed the stranger among them, shivering in the snow.

 

Well, she couldn’t just stand here.

 

Belle knew that she needed to move, get warm, find some assistance… but it was clear that no help was so be found in this moment. So Belle started towards the fire, towards movement and warmth. At the very least, perhaps she could help herself by helping these people.

 

The snow was deep, soaking into her boots and the bottom of her skirts. Belle discovered more aches as she worked her way from a stumbling walk to a jog and she had to remind herself that pain, in this case, was good. She would have been more concerned had she woken to the numbness that spoke of oncoming discoloration and the eventual removal of limbs. Belle shivered, but this time not from cold. She was lost, thrown into an unknown location, with muddled thoughts as to how she’d gotten there ( _there was tea, and more tea…_ ). Though Belle knew she had to make the best of her situation, which wasn’t nearly so hard when someone’s livelihood was burning before her.

 

As Belle got closer she could see that the father and son worked in tandem—scoop, lift, throw—while four others did their best with leaking pails and their own hands. Belle could feel the fire growing as heat licked at her skin, producing sweat that then froze in the night air. She ignored her discomfort, marching as steadily as possible up to the father.

 

“What can I do?”

 

Belle hailed him above the roar and the wind. The man startled out of his rhythm, nearly dropping the shovel as he turned to her. His son stared as well; mouth hanging so wide that bits of ash began to settle on his tongue. The father was the first to recover, rubbing his eyes and peering as if he expected her to disappear.

 

“Now who—”

 

“Never you mind, good sir.” Belle called upon every lesson she’d learned in court, imbuing her voice with the authority that had gained her a place on her father’s war council. “We do not know one another, but there is little time for introductions now. If we don’t contain the blaze it will quickly spread to the rest of your village.” She hesitated a moment, before saying only, “I’m Belle.”

 

She dropped a courtesy in the snow—habit, really—and the men didn’t know what to make of _that_. Most gawked openly, especially the boy, but one man off to the side fumbled through a shocked bow. His friend, a man more fair of hair than the others, snickered at him, despite the tense situation.

 

“What can I do?” Belle insisted.

 

“Knott,” her companion said in response, thumping his own chest. He pointed behind him. “My son, Dai. Can you lift?” He eyed her thin arms skeptically.

 

“Given the situation: yes, I can.”

 

He nodded, with what Belle would have liked to believe was respect. “There’s earth, in another barn near the well.” Knott pointed along the makeshift road where men were running, fetching water or ordering others to stay away. “Four doors down from there old Anualt has a wagon. Fetch it, fill it, bring it here.” Suddenly he turned, gesturing violently at the others to get back to work. The fire had grown during their preoccupation with her arrival. Knott turned back to her, something both soft and uneasy flitting across his face. “Think you can manage that, M’lady?”

 

Now was not the time to quibble over an address. “Quite,” Belle said.

 

“Good. Dai, you’d best— _damn and blast!_ ”

 

All of them as one ducked as a wall of fire pushed out towards their group. They stumbled at the sudden intensity, Belle letting out a little scream. The wood of the barn groaned under the latest assault and when they could turn back they all saw clearly that the structure would not recover. Flames had now spread to most of the entrance and there were sparks beginning to jump towards the roof. Soon the building would be leveled. The best they could hope to do was contain the damage.

 

Belle turned to run, having every intention of fetching the earth Knott had mentioned…but a noise held her. Faint, barely perceptible, but tugging at her insistently. She paused, head cocked towards the barn.

 

Belle closed her eyes.

 

She could hear the fire, the townsfolk, the crunch of trampled snow… there was nothing underneath that though. … Right? No. Just the wind, her own breathing… if there were anything else she would have heard it aga—

 

_There!_

Belle staggered, taking two steps closer to the barn. She was _sure_ she’d heard a cry.

 

She whirled on Knott and knew immediately by his face that he’d heard it too. The skin under his beard whitened to match the snow.

 

“Is there someone _inside_?” Belle hissed. 

 

“I don’t—”

 

“Aye, child!”

 

The call came from an old woman, hobbling towards them with surprising speed. She nearly upended herself on the ice but one of the men, the one who’d tried to bow to Belle, caught her arm. She shook him off, shuffling until she was close enough to be heard.

 

“A boy,” she panted, gulping air, “young’un.” She coughed wetly into her rags. The man grasped her arm again and this time she allowed the support. Belle also offered a hand but was waved away. “Damn barn is rotted through,” she growled, “has been for years. Foolish child likes to play knights and dragons inside, says,” she heaved, coughing insistently, “says it looks like a damnable cave—!”

 

If it were possible, Knott’s face drained of more color. All of them glanced towards the barn and Belle noted that it was indeed collapsing faster than a sound structure would have. The frame wouldn’t hold for much longer.

 

Dai edged up behind his father, staring at the old woman. “You’re _sure_ …?”  

 

“Aye. Saw him go in after finishing his chores. T’was not an hour ago.”

 

“Well then we must do something!” Belle cried, but she was stunned when the group fell silent. She prayed it was only indignation that held their tongues; pride wounded at a strange woman giving them orders.

 

No such luck.

 

“ _I’ll_ not be risking my neck. Not for the likes of him,” said one of the men in the back. He shrugged, but wouldn’t meet the old woman’s glare, nor Belle’s look of horror. He wacked his bucket firmly against his thigh. “I won’t, ya hear! Nice enough lad, but not one to risk dy’in for. Not _his_ kid anyways.” A few of the others nodded.

 

Belle stared, unable to believe what she was hearing. “You’d let a child burn?” she whispered.

 

“Might well be the gods’ work, M’lady,” said another, apologetically.

 

“It most certainly is not!” But the others were nodding more strongly now.

 

“—had it coming these years—”

 

“—bleeding coward. Swear by it, now—”

 

“—not the boy’s fault, but the gods don’t—”

 

“Tis’ true, M’lady,” said the first, finally staring her down. “Eye for an eye, you’ve heard? Boys’ father had this comin’ a long time now.”

 

“You would let a child _burn_!” It was no longer a question, but an accusation and sentence that sprung from Belle’s lips. She rose up, fully aware of the finery of her clothes in comparison to theirs and the eloquence of her speech. They noticed it too, shrinking from her authority. Belle was not one to abuse her status, but she would most certainly make an exception for the sake of a child’s life.

 

“All of you.” Her voice was quiet. Damning. “All of you would sacrifice an innocent as payment for his father’s sins?” They winced, but Belle noted that the old woman looked on approvingly. “I’ll not have it! Knott,” she said, turning to this new acquaintance, desperately, “even you?”

 

This large man flinched under her gaze. He recovered himself quick enough though. “Perhaps, M’lady,” he said softly. “We should focus on containing and smothering the blaze. Perhaps the boy will live—”

 

“No! There isn’t _time_ —”

 

Belle gasped, rocking as if she’d taken a blow to her stomach. Her knees buckled and her head lulled forward, feeling incredibly heavy. She was dimly aware of Dai lunging to hold her up, but otherwise she was unaware of anything other then the interior of her own mind, suddenly awash with images, so many she feared she might vomit. Vivid pictures flitted across her eyes: of Time ( _yes, that was a name now wasn’t it?_ ), his visit to the Dark Castle, his odd interest in her…

 

Belle heaved.

 

Time had sent her here, _thrown_ her here… but why? She gazed dizzily at the faces surrounding her, all of them looking on in concern. She now had a clear view of Dai’s hands and could see that the youthful skin was marred by scares and calluses. There was an infection spreading in his nails. What was to be found in this village, clearly so poor that the men labored desperately and had little access to healers? Why had he sent her _here_?

 

There had been tea, magic, cold, and Rumpelstiltskin, reaching desperately for her before everything went black…

 

Oh gods. Rumple.

 

Belle could see him so clearly, that wild look in his eyes, just like a cornered beast. She didn’t know which thought terrified her more: what Rumpelstiltskin would do to Time in retribution, or what Time would due to _him_ , angered at a mere sorcerer challenging a god. When she got back—yes, _when—_ she may well be cleaning at least one corpse from the hall’s floors.

 

“M’lady?”

 

Knott knelt before her, one of the pails in his hand. It was filled with melted snow and he tentatively offered her the liquid, urging her to drink.

 

“M’lady?” he whispered, “are you ill?” The fire lit his face and the unease that was etched there.

 

_The fire!_

 

Belle straightened, frantically shaking her head. No, now was not the time to ponder why she was here. That could wait. Gods, what a little fool she was! How long since they’d heard the boy’s cry? Two minutes? Three? Belle eyed the barn. It was a large structure, with plenty of space to avoid flames, but it wouldn’t remain that way for long. She’s been right before. There was no time.

 

“I’m fine,” she insisted, relieved that her voice was steady. If only she could get her heart to steady as well. “I’ll take that, sir, if you’ll allow it,” and Bell took the pail, promptly dumping the contents over her curls.

 

“M’lady!”

 

Belle could barely hear the men’s shocked cries over her gasp. The water felt even colder since she’d spent minutes by the blaze. Belle released a little whimper as rivulets of ice ran down her neck and back. She bore it though, bending to scoop another bucket of snow and sloshing it over her chest.

 

“You’ll catch your death!” It was the fair-haired man, the one who had condemned this boy. He was staring at Belle like she was more lunatic than girl and, frankly, she couldn’t blame him. Despite his wickedness, she tried to conjure up a reassuring smile. The rest of the men stayed quiet, eyes wide as plates. Only the old woman seemed to understand, her own eyes moving from Belle to the barn.

 

“You mean to go in, don’t you, child?” she asked.

 

Belle only gave a sharp nod, heaving snow up onto her skirts. The men were reanimated, even more shocked now that they understood her motives.

 

“—you can’t—!”

 

“—M’lady, please think—”

 

“—where’s your family? They’ll—”

 

“—not worth—”

 

“ _Silence!_ ”

 

Her voice cracked harder than she’d meant it to, but Belle couldn’t bring herself care, not when her breath was hitching with cold again. She was entirely soaked now, her dress unbearably weighted.

 

“None of you will go in, am I right?”

 

They all looked away.

 

Belle was torn. A part of her wanted to hate them, but another part—thankfully a larger part—only pitied them. She didn’t know the story behind this boy and his family, but she did know how difficult being brave could be. So Belle only sighed, touching Dai and Knott with hands so cold they both jumped.

 

“Just think,” she begged, “about how you’re more concerned over a stranger’s life than one of your own.”

 

Dai swallowed and looked away, but she could see his thoughts reflected in all the others. To them she was clearly ‘M’lady,’ a lovely noblewoman mysteriously appearing… but very much deserving of whatever hospitality they could scrounge up. Whoever this boy’s father was, his status in this village made the value of their lives no comparison to her’s.

 

Belle stepped determinedly towards the barn.

 

“I’d go with you, child.” The old woman said. “Had I the legs and back to do it.”

 

“Thank you,” Belle whispered.

 

“Anualt,” she replied.

 

“The one with the wagon.”

 

“Aye,” and that earned her a brief, crooked smile.

 

“I’m Belle.”

 

“So I’ve heard.” Anualt coughed, grimacing into her fist. “Keep low, child, and try not to breath too much of the smoke. There’s only one entrance, but you may be able to pry another board loose.”

 

Belle nodded.

 

Anualt fixed her with a hard look. “You bring that boy back, M’lady,” she said and Belle startled at the unexpected formality from her. “There’s no love for him and his father, not here, but I’ll be damned if I see someone a fifth of my age passing before I do.” She brushed wrinkled fingers against Belle’s wrist. “Don’t you go getting killed either, child.”

 

Belle could only nod again.

 

And as she began wading towards the barn, Belle could have sworn she heard a sarcastic, “… and welcome to the village,” muttered at her back.

 

***

 

Halfway there, Belle decided to take it at a run.

 

No easy task given the height of the snow and the weight of her skirts, but she knew she’d never have the courage to go through if there wasn’t some momentum; a way of letting her body do all the work. As Belle ran, she was again struck by contrasts: the ice she felt along her skin in comparison to the heat she was approaching, the stuttering of her heart and the rhythmic pumping of her legs. As she got closer, Belle realized that drenching herself had been the right move. Approaching the flames she felt less like she was boiling in a pot and more like she’d just been set on a low simmer.

 

Ten yards. Five. The fire had begun on the left side of the barn and had nearly taken over the front by now, but there was still space in the top, right hand corner of the doorway, free of flame. Belle aimed there. Three yards and she gathered up her skirts, holding the sodden fabric against her thighs. She couldn’t let the material slow her down, or risk it catching more of the blaze than was strictly necessary. She did the same with her hair, pulling it up against her neck.

 

Two yards and Belle began to crouch, lengthening her strides but curling her face against her chest, unable to look up anymore. The heat was scorching. Surely she was blistering already. Surely she’d go up in flames herself, foolishly burning before she even discovered if the boy was alive. The fire was _right there,_ kissing her cheeks and her nose. Unwillingly, Belle let out a cry that she hoped was lost on the wind. The fire, it hurt a great deal, and although that should have been an obvious thought, it wasn’t.

 

One yard and Belle leapt.

 

She had heard, from more then one source, that when one is about to die time slows down and their life passes before them. Time did indeed slow, but given that _he_ had thrown her into this predicament in the first place, Belle was unsurprised that this was far from a blessing. She had no remembrances of time spent with family or even melancholy visions of what could have been. No, time slowed down and all Belle experienced was agonizing heat.

 

And then she landed.

 

Hard. On her knees. Belle’s hands instinctively flew out to stop her, but she drew them back with a shriek. Obviously no snow had fallen here and the packed dirt had been cooking since the fire first began; it was like touching a stove. That, more than anything, drove Belle to her feet. She sent a quick prayer of gratitude to Rumpelstiltskin and the sturdy shoes he’d provided for her in their months together.

 

For the rest, Belle was shocked to find that she was relatively unharmed. Her palms burned, as did her neck, shoulders, and a space on her back, but if any part of her clothes had caught fire it had been extinguished during her tumble. Within seconds she found herself coughing, sounding an awful lot like Anualt outside. The barn was long and she was able to stumble away from the fire in the front, but the entire building was thick with noxious smoke. It burned her eyes and Belle had to resist rubbing at them, knowing that the tears would only hinder her vision more. Her throat burned along with her eyes. It was torture just to breathe, let alone call out, but Belle did it anyway.

 

“Hello?”

 

Her voice was so muffled _she_ could barely hear it. She had to be louder, even if it tore open her throat and poured smoke into her lungs.

 

“ _Hello!_ ”

 

The barn was a simple square and there was only one direction to go in: away from the fire. Looking back, Belle saw that her small window was gone and nothing remained of the front but red and black flames. The sides were crackling with equal enthusiasm and a bright orange strip was opening above her, sprinkling hot bits of straw on her head. Belle kept shuffling forward, both for her own safety and with the knowledge that if the boy was still alive, he’d have found his way to the back. Arms up in front of her face, mouth trying to breathe through the cloth of her sleeve, every three steps Belle forced herself to look up and scream hello, hello, hello, hel—

 

“Here!”

 

She might have missed it, had it not come from directly at her feet.

 

It was a boy alright, though one that looked more like a demon, clouded as he was in smoke and ash. Yet peering closer, Belle could see a white, terrified face under the soot, framing eyes whose warmth had nothing to do with the fire surrounding them. He was lying down, cocooned in an old cloak to protect himself as much as possible. When Belle crouched beside him he leapt up, hands painfully grasping at her arms. He was shaking with fear and adrenaline.

 

“Are you okay?” Belle shouted and what an idiotic question that was. The boy nodded though and only then did she know relief that he wasn’t sporting broken bones or burns too horrific for consciousness. He pointed shakily to his right where shards of wood were slowly beginning to smoke.

 

“The loft collapsed,” he shouted back, now pointing up, “before I got down.” That was a horrifyingly vivid image and Belle thanked the gods that the barn was a small one; a fall from any higher a height and the boy may well have broken his neck. “I think I slept. When I woke, the way out was blocked and I didn’t—I didn’t know what...” He trailed off, all wide eyes and trembling hands.

 

Not entirely blocked, Belle thought, wincing at the tightness around her neck and back. Yet either way, the entrance was certainly blocked now. They had to move.

 

“Come here,” she insisted. Belle pulled him into her arms, wrapping his cloak around them as best she could. It was easier to speak this way, directly against his ear and with his hair filtering some of the smoke. Unconsciously, she stroked some of the curls before sliding down to pet his neck.

 

“There’s no other way out?” she asked, desperate.

 

He shook his head against her chest.

 

“Then we must make one,” Belle said and eased them towards the pile of broken wood. She stupidly tried to grasp the nearest plank and only succeeded in pulling her hand away with a cry. The boy immediately understood and ripped off a portion of his cloak—it was that threadbare—so that Belle could wrap her hand. Soon they each had a sharp bit of wood the size of their arms, stumbling further towards the back. Behind them the fire thickened, chasing them from all directions but one.

 

How long since she’d awoken? Ten minutes? How long had the barn been burning before that? Not long, but certainly too long. Belle could hear the wood shuddering and her companion glanced warily at the ceiling. Anualt was right, the back would most likely be fragile from age and the heat; they could perhaps force a way out. She could only hope that the same fragility didn’t bring the whole barn down atop their heads first.

 

The smoke was so thick Belle only realized they’d reached a dead end when she made another painful collision with hot wood. She dropped to her knees, pulling the boy down beside her. He reached blindly to begin but Belle stilled his hand, threading their fingers and deciding not to let go.

 

“What’s your name?” she shouted. She’d be damned if they both died here, but just in case…

 

The boy smiled a little, squeezing back weakly. “Baelfire.” he said.

 

“Are you _serious_?”

 

He only coughed confusedly.

 

“You’re named Bael _fire_?” And Belle was laughing, impossibly, inhaling so much smoke she felt lightheaded. Or maybe it was just the absurdity of her predicament.

 

The boy—Baelfire, apparently—stared, and then he laughed as well. Just a little, but for just a moment he didn’t look like a terrified child in a truly horrific situation.

 

“Well, Baelfire,” she said, “I’m Belle and I’m not letting your name prove to be some sort of prophecy, okay? Dig.”

 

So they dug, attacking the soil underneath the boards; using booted feet to crack the wood. It took longer than Belle would have imagined. Two minutes. Three. She realized, after she’d created a small opening with her plank, that she _was_ dizzy, her vision tunneling in and out. Baelfire, for all his courage, was in worse shape. No doubt he’d inhaled even more smoke while passed out and now he began to lean listlessly against Belle’s shoulder, his movements slowing. It was when the board she was working at splintered enough for her to spot snow that he listed and didn’t rise.

 

“Baelfire?” Belle’s voice was too weak to shout, though she wished too. Instead she pulled him into her lap, tilting backwards. She raised her legs and with as much energy as she could muster, kicked— _crack._ And again— _crack._ Belle didn’t think about the dead weight in her arms— _crack—_ nor the sweat pooling against her ribs— _crack—_ nor how close the fire felt now, tickling her neck— _crack._ She just kicked, closing her eyes until it became a rhythm she needn’t need to think about. She could sit and pretend she was somewhere else. For just a moment, she could forget.

 

Except that Belle ended up remembering instead. Sitting in a burning building, a child tucked under her chin, Belle’s desperate rhythm became the rhythm of a wheel and she understood then how repetition could be soothing.

 

Belle thought of Rumpelstiltskin.  

 

_Creeeeack!_

Belle’s eyes flew open, just in time to see the board and its connecting planks splinter outwards. Her little kicks, coupled with the fire, had finally overtaken the barn and the building as a whole swayed to the left. Until it didn’t. Belle watched, stunned, as the back wall groaned forward, leaving the roof’s beams where they were: directly over their heads.

 

Later, Belle would wonder where she’d found the strength, to not only haul herself, but also a young boy through the opening they’d created, away from the falling roof. She could recall only scant details: Baelfire’s hot skin as she tried to gain purchase, a lump of wood grazing her shoulder, the flare of fire against her back as a draft was suddenly allowed through, the _amazing_ feeling of being cold once more, as they dove into the snow…

 

Belle trembled, tucked under a sheet of white as the barn collapsed behind them, fire roaring up to consume it.

 

She’d instinctively thrown herself over Baelfire, but now she rolled off with the last of her strength, fearful of crushing him. He looked even younger now, out of the darkness. Belle found that his hair was not black only from ash and that his pallor had only been due to fear; he was a tan boy, one used to working outside. Tenderly, exhaustedly, she smoothed snow away from his mouth so that he might breathe.

 

Dimly, Belle thought she heard voices.

 

“M’lady!” It was Knott, sprinting to reach them. Dai was close at his heels but Knott shooed him off, screaming for him to help finish off the fire. Anualt brought up the rear, pausing only to cough into her cloak.

 

Belle felt an answering scratch, deep down in her lungs, but she was too tired to even think of coughing.

 

Upon reaching her Knott dropped to his knees, removing his outer shirt in one swift movement. He didn’t seem to know what to do with it then though, fluttering his hands hesitantly over Belle and ignoring Baelfire completely. He finally draped it gently over her chest, so very carful not to touch her, and Belle, despite not having the energy to spare, deliberately moved one long sleeve to cover Baelfire’s neck. She could feel the steady pulse there and Belle laid her head down on the snow, relieved.

 

“Well done, child,” Anualt said, so softly that Belle nearly missed it, distracted as she was by the ringing in her ears. She had no chance to share in the joy though, for Anualt turned her sharp tongue on Knott.

 

“Come now!” she barked, “Why the hesitation, boy? Tell me, was Dai conceived through magic, or did you actually manage to stick that shriveled tool of yours between Marria’s legs?”

 

“Anualt!” Knott’s face grew as red as the fire behind him.

 

“Lady or not, she’s not gonna break. Pick her up, boy! I sure as hell can’t.”

 

“Baelfire too,” Belle whispered. Her voice was fading.

 

“The child comes as well, young miss, don’t you fret. I’ll not abandon him, not like some.” She spat in the direction of the men, now making good headway against the fire. The barn’s collapse had helped to stifle the blaze.

 

“Come,” Anualt demanded and Knott tentatively slid an arm under Belle’s shoulders. “There, now. We’ll—”

 

“ _Bae!_ ”

 

The cry was sharp on the wind, so filled with anguish that it snapped Belle awake. Trembling, she pushed herself up on one arm, steading Baelfire with the other, and peered into the distance. There, hobbling towards them was a man. Unlike Anualt he was literally hobbling, using a crutch to force his way through the snow, and his attempts would have been humorous if they weren’t so sad, trembling as he was and tripping over his own feet. Belle could tell when he finally got a clear view of Baelfire, lying in her lap, for the man did away with all dignity. He threw down his crutch and rushed forward with a speed that made him grimace horribly. When he fell, just feet from where they were gathered, he crawled the rest of the way, cutting his hands on the ice and heaving great, stuttering breaths. Knott reared back in distaste, but Anualt just clucked, looking resigned.

 

Belle sat, stunned.

 

“Bae, oh Bae.” The man stretched forward until he found the mop of black hair, petting it reverently. He started to cry, the tears freezing on his cheeks. “It’s okay now, son. You’re alright. Oh gods, Bae…”

 

All at once though he seemed to realize that there was another body under his son’s. His eyes locked with Belle’s and widened fearfully. The man snatched his hand back and instead began grasping at the air between them, still desperate, but no longer willing to touch.

 

“You,” he whispered. Belle’s breath caught, but his voice was filled only with gratitude and awe. “You, y-you saved my boy, M’lady?” Belle nodded dumbly. “Oh gods, I… I-c-can’t— oh _thank you._ ”

 

He rocked a moment and then bowed forward until his forehead met the snow, resting against the edge of her burned dress.

 

“Thank you, M’lady.” He cried, “Thank you, thank you, thank you—”

 

Belle could only nod again, oddly disassociated. She knew that she would loose consciousness soon, could feel sleep edging ever closer, but for this one moment Belle would just sit; alive, a hero, and taking in the impossible sight of Rumpelstiltskin sobbing at her feet.

 


	4. The Lady

There was a fairy sleeping by his hearth.

 

Surely she couldn’t be anything else, for Rumpelstiltskin was sure that mortals such as her did not exist. Even having been frozen, burned, and frozen again, she was still beautiful. _Exquisite._ Nothing like the women he’d grown up around, nor even the noblewomen he’d seen pass on the roads, draped in their finery. No, creatures bound to earth didn’t have skin so smooth and creamy, untouched by hardship, and he was positive that no human had eyes that blue. Even her nails, dirty and chipped from her escape, were still flawless petals, framing perfectly delicate hands.

 

Hands that had dragged Bae from a fire.

 

Rumpelstiltskin looked away, disgusted with himself. What was he doing? He had no right to look upon her, not when she was so very far above him and had proven herself to be pure in soul as well as feature. He chewed his lip. Gods, who was _he_ to gaze on _her_? If anything, his eyes should be trained on the ground, forever, head bowed submissively in her presence.

 

And yet…

 

Rumpelstiltskin swallowed, hands trembling in his lap. He made the tinniest, pained sound before looking back.

 

… and yet, she drew the eye.

 

Anualt also knelt at his fire, the fairy’s head pillowed in her lap. They had melted clean snow in a basin and she now used it to wash the lady’s hair. It was a fascinating process. Anualt used her own comb to tease through the tresses before laying them down, discoloring the water with mud, soot, and other bits of grime that had no place tainting the lady’s person. When the strands were again their natural, chestnut color they were spread out along Anualt’s thighs to dry by the fire. Every once in a while she’d pause, twisting a bit around her gnarled fingers to enhance the curl.

 

“She’ll be quite the beauty again come morning, with a bit of rest,” Anualt murmured, twirling more hair. “Even if she must dress as a beggar.”

 

It was true. Morraine, a dear friend of Bae’s, had only three dresses to her name, but had eagerly given one up for their visitor. It was a simple brown smock with tears along the seams, but it was warm—warmer than what she’d come in wearing. Rumpelstiltskin fingered the lady’s previous dress, draped on the chair beside him. The material was practical, but of a finer quality than anything he’d touched before. It was a shame to see it as it was now: wrinkled and scorched and utterly beyond wearing. Perhaps bits could be salvaged, but not the garment as a whole.

 

Rumpelstiltskin brushed his knuckles gently across a capped sleeve. He wondered why this lady had been wearing a spring dress in the dead of winter. More so, he wondered what a lady with such fine clothing was doing in their village, to say nothing of saving their children.

 

Anualt was right though. Even in Morraine’s shabbiest she was still radiant. Her hair would be dry soon and the curls that brushed against the dress’s collar were so fine one could easily ignore the poor material, picturing an elegant gown in its stead. It’s what she deserved after all… gowns and jewelry and satin slippers for her feet. Instead their lady had been gifted with wounds and the hysteric gratitude of a coward.

 

Rumpelstiltskin winced.

 

The journey back to his home had been… hectic. Rumpelstiltskin was ashamed to admit how long it had taken him to calm. He’d heard the shouts of ‘fire’ while preparing dinner and had known, positively _known_ , that Bae was in trouble. His fears were only confirmed when he heard that it was the barn aflame, for Bae often went to play there. The knowledge was a sick twisting in his stomach, the stuttering of his heart. His boy was so brave, always playing at the courageous knight who bested dragons. In that horrible moment Rumpelstiltskin had seen reality merge with fantasy: Bae, screaming, consumed by a dragon’s fire.

 

So he’d run, just like he always did.

 

Here, with Bae tucked safely in his bed, Rumpelstiltskin allowed his lips to twist in self-mockery. It hardly even mattered that he’d run _towards_ the danger this time around. He didn’t know what about the situation was worse, his delusional belief that he could actually save Bae, or the fact that his “run” was a ridiculous hobble that had him arriving when everything had concluded. Oh yes, he was quite the hero. Rumpelstiltskin knew his place and it certainly wasn’t in a burning building, pulling loved ones from the smoke.

 

She, however…

 

His eyes strayed back to the fairy, the nymph, this exquisite noblewoman who had somehow wound up in his home. He had acknowledged, while pulling himself towards the barn, that it was a nearly hopeless situation. Unless Bae could find a way out himself there would _be_ no way out. Rumpelstiltskin wouldn’t have been able to go in with his leg (a cool voice in the back of his mind insisted that he wouldn’t have had the _courage_ to go in) and no one in their village would have put their own life on the line. Not for his son. So when he’d spotted Bae cradled safe in the arms of this angel… well, for a moment Rumpelstiltskin had lost himself.

 

He tore his gaze away from her, shame heating his cheeks. In truth, it had been a very _long_ moment. Not only had he been unable to physically carry Bae or this woman to safety, but he’d barely been able to keep his own feet. His knee screamed from the torture he’d put it through, but the true paralysis had come from relief, gratitude, disbelief; a gale of emotions that left him fervently clasping the hem of his lady’s dress.

 

Knott had eventually pulled him away, asking if he wanted them all to freeze to death, growling for him to pull himself together. He’d then done what Rumpelstiltskin never could, hefting the lady carefully in his arms and tossing Bae over one shoulder. Anualt was already calling for men to head back to her hut for herbs, potions, salts, and the like. She needed much to heal both their wounds.

 

Rumpelstiltskin was left to follow. He’d eventually caught his breath and crawled back towards his crutch, limply making his way back home. Only the need to keep Bae within sight kept him moving.

 

Now here they were.

 

Anualt sighed as she pushed the basin away, stretching her neck until it popped. The lady’s hair was now a perfect halo stretching across her legs. One tendril had escaped though, resting on the bare floor where the blanket they’d spread didn’t reach. The sight of that errant curl touching the filth of his dwelling made Rumpelstiltskin cringe and he had the insane urge to snatch the strand up. To protect it. Only the knowledge of how unwelcome such an action would be and the sight of his own dirty hands kept the impulse at bay. He clutched a bit of her dress instead, worrying it endlessly.

 

With one task completed Anualt took up a lotion, scooping it by the spoonful onto a towel. Tenderly, she began to lower a bit of the lady’s dress before pausing. She didn’t look up, but Rumpelstiltskin could feel her stern gaze burrowing into him. The hunch of her shoulders reminded him of a feral cat he’d once seen, jealously guarding her litter.

 

“Check on your boy, spinner,” she growled, “and should I catch your eyes straying...”

 

Rumpelstiltskin nodded hurriedly, a fierce blush crawling up his neck. He grabbed his staff and hobbled away, breath wheezing at what Anualt planned to do. They’d changed the lady at Morraine’s place before bringing her here, but Rumpelstiltskin knew that her body needed more tending than a mere change of clothes. Her burns, while superficial, were extensive and were most notable on her back where her previous gown had been cut away in a style he’d never seen before. Flexing his fingers, Rumpelstiltskin recalled once burning himself while making dyes for his wool, a foolish accident where he’d overturned his pot. He knew from experience that Anualt’s lotions could work miracles, but they needed to be applied liberally and often to be effective. The lady would have great difficulty in reaching the burned areas on her back and that difficulty, coupled with the knowledge that Anualt would eventually leave, made Rumpelstiltskin blush all the more.

 

Perhaps Bae could tend to the lady.

 

His son entering his thoughts, Rumpelstiltskin let out another relieved sob, seeing him lying safely in his bed.  He did indeed look peaceful. When the four of them had finally converged in his home Rumpelstiltskin had been torn. He wanted desperately to be reassured of his son’s health, but he would not, _could_ not, allow the lady’s own injuries to be ignored. Stuttering all the while he’d insisted that Anualt treat her first, but she’d merely rolled her eyes, claiming that his boy had inhaled far more smoke than the girl and necessity outweighed status any day. She’s pushed him aside—an easy task, even for one as frail as Anualt—and set to treating Bae with a gentleness that shocked him. She bathed his wounds in the very lotion she now rubbed into the lady’s skin, gave him a tonic for his lungs, and another for sleep. He would not wake until midday tomorrow, at earliest.

 

Trembling, Rumpelstiltskin lowered himself to his knees, careful to leave all weight off his bad leg. Once settled he ran hands through his son’s hair, giving a relieved laugh at the texture. He was positively filthy, not having been bathed as the lady had, but the grime made it all the more real to Rumpelstiltskin. His Bae was alive and looking far better than he had any right to. Already his color was coming back and the rasp that had clung to his breathing was nearly gone. Anualt’s potions were priceless, more so for being offered at all. Rumpelstiltskin, despite what many would say, was no fool. He was loved by no one here and despised by most. Yet somehow he’d managed to find the only crone willing to treat a coward’s son and the one stranger willing to risk her life for his.

 

Truly, who _was_ this woman?

 

“Spinner.” The call came from a voice cracked with fatigue. “Come on out now.”

 

Rumpelstiltskin dropped a kiss to Bae’s forehead and struggled to his feet. He found Anualt seated at his table, gazing at their guest. The lady looked like something holy there, a goddess that by some quirk of fate had designed to rest by his fire. She lay now curled beneath a blanket, her skin shining with the medicine Anualt provided. Her hair was nearly dry now and her face, like Bae’s, was beginning to regain its color.

Rumpelstiltskin starred, transfixed at her beauty. He was suddenly, desperately grateful that the fire had done no lasting harm. He didn’t know how he would have lived with himself, had he known that saving Bae had cost this woman her beauty.

 

“Don’t gawk, Spinner.” Anualt rapped her knuckles hard against the wood, recalling him. “She’s not yours to look upon.”

 

“O-of course.” Rumpelstiltskin instead gazed at the floor, swaying slightly as he fought against the pain in his knee. Anualt let him shake for a minute before scowling, spitting across his table in disgust.

 

“Oh sit yourself down, you damned fool,” and he collapsed, gratefully. She leaned forward, swinging a gnarled finger under his nose. “I’m not treating _that_ ,” she hissed, now pointing to his leg. “You brought that on yourself, Spinner. Oh yes! You’ll get no relief from me, so don’t ever think you will. Understood?”

 

Rumpelstiltskin pulled away from her, nodding. He could smell the anger on her, a sharp scent that flushed his skin.

 

“I want nothing more,” he whispered. “You’ve already been very generous.”

 

“Too right I have. I’ll be out of business two turns of the moon—at least!—replacing these potions. Rare ingredients in the tonic that went down your boy’s throat and yes—” her voice sharpened, “— _just_ your boy. The one for her was a _gift_.”

 

Rumpelstiltskin huddled in on himself. “I know. We’re very grateful. Truly. More than I can say. But… but I fear that we have little to offer you in the way of payment.”

 

“I’m aware,” Anualt hissed.

 

The silence stretched between them until Rumpelstiltskin felt the familiar, shameful urge to beg. It was all he knew how to do and, frankly, all he had to offer. Anualt glared steadily at his bowed head, waiting.

 

“I—… I have pottery,” he finally ventured, gesturing to the earthen jars that housed what little grain they had. “You could—”

 

“I don’t want your trinkets, Spinner.”

 

His hand dropped. “Of course.” What else? What else could he offer? The only reassurance Rumpelstiltskin had in all this was that Bae and the women had already been treated and the remaining medicine rested on his mantel, out of Anualt’s reach. Surely she would have packed it away, had she intended to deny them... “There are some linens—”

 

“Please.”

 

“I—” Rumpelstiltskin glanced desperately at his leg. “I’m not much for labor, Anualt, but Bae is a strong boy—”

 

“You’d sell out your own son?”

 

“Wh—? No!”

 

“Though perhaps he could be of use to me. There’s power in a child’s hair and blood and bone.”

 

Rumpelstiltskin went the color of curdled milk. “No,” he whispered, “please.”

 

“Humph. Well, he is the son of a coward. Why should I settle for spoiled goods?” Anualt eyes snapped to his wheel, seated near the fire. “That’s a fine piece.”

 

He clenched his jaw, doing everything within his power to quench the trembling around his mouth. When Rumpelstiltskin spoke the words escaped in a gasp.

 

“Anualt, Anualt please… that’s my livelihood…”

 

“Oh keep silent. I didn’t mean it. Not much of a spinner without your wheel, are you?—oh come now! I’ll have no more of your tears. Bless the gods, boy, you’ll wake them both at this rate.”

 

That was the last thing he wanted. Glancing at the lovely creature that—thankfully—still slept, Rumpelstiltskin stuffed his sleeve into his mouth, tasting smoke and animal hide. He gulped convulsively, never looking away from the nymph’s face. He found it soothing, the light of the fire flickering across her cheeks and nose, now a hypnotic image rather than the terrifying one it had been out by the barn. Rumpelstiltskin looked his fill, fully aware that he didn’t deserve it. But her beauty calmed him and soon his cries tapered off to mere hiccups.

 

“Are you normally such an infant, Spinner?” But Anualt waved her hand, silencing him. All at once she slumped, scrubbing a weary hand over her face. A few gray hairs were flattened against her cheek and in the poor light they made it look as if she were crying too.

 

“You’re a fool,” she said, but her voice had lost its anger. It was softer now. “A fool and a coward, but gods, I suppose you have an excuse this night, don’t you? If any man has the right to weep, it’s a father who nearly lost his child.”

 

Rumpelstiltskin nodded. He was tempted to reach forward and grasp Anualt’s hand, but he didn’t dare. He knew the gesture wouldn’t be appreciated. Instead he just gave her a watery smile.

 

“Thank you,” he said.

 

“Hurmph. Well, I fear that thanks aren’t enough. How about you and I make a deal, Spinner?”

 

Hesitantly, Rumpelstiltskin nodded. Truly, what choice did he have?

 

“What kind of deal?” he asked.

 

“Why, an honorable one, of course.” Anualt pointed towards the lady. In the last few minutes she’d turned away from them, drawn to the warmth of the fire. Her body seemed to relax more and more with each breath, her arms curled beneath her chin while her dainty feet snuggled into the blankets. It amazed him, how comfortable this lady was, sleeping on the floor of a nobody. Not even just a nobody, but one shunned by the rest. Yet Rumpelstiltskin was convinced that if he peeked over her shoulder he’d see a soft smile touching her lips.

 

Anualt nodded at his silence. “My deal is this, Spinner,” she said. “My assistance for her comfort.”

 

Rumpelstiltskin’s gaze snapped to hers.

 

“You heard me. I healed your boy, now I want this girl well taken care of.” Anualt pulled herself over the table, getting right in his face. “Listen here. I don’t know who she is or where she came from or if the poor thing is running from something horrid but if she _is_ , that’s too damn bad for you!” She closed her eyes, trying to calm herself. “What I _do_ know,” she continued, “is that she came stumbling into our village, damn near frozen half to death, and instead of demanding her dues she offers to help us. You can see it, can’t you, Spinner? That she’s a woman of standing?”

 

Rumpelstiltskin nodded. It was as plain as the nose on his face.

 

“Well, you think on that then. I’ve not met much of the nobility, but I’m old enough to know that most don’t offer to dirty themselves trying to put out some poor man’s fire. Even fewer would risk their pretty necks for a coward’s son.” Anualt nodded at his indrawn breath. “You heard me, Spinner. She _knew._ Titus ran his mouth and three heartbeats later everyone had condemned your boy—except her. She went in anyway, even knowing that she sought _your_ son. Bless and save me, the girl even gave them all a tongue lashing before she went!”

 

Anualt threw the sleeping girl a wicked, approving grin while Rumpelstiltskin’s world swam. He tried to make sense of it all, that this lady would not just save a boy, but _his_ boy. She’d known… and it hadn’t seemed to matter.

 

But soon Anualt’s attention was back on him, pinning Rumpelstiltskin as effectively as any binding curse. “You understand?” she whispered and he nodded dumbly, again. “Good. Then heed my words well, Spinner. You owe this woman everything and so you will give her _everything._ Your roof, your servitude. These are indeed hard times, but if there isn’t enough food for three then you feed your child and give the rest to her, with not a thought for yourself. Should she desire the soft beds and gown that she’s no doubt used to then you find some way to get them, no matter how impossible it seems. Should she desire this meager hovel for herself then you _get out_.” Anualt narrowed her eyes, her voice no more than a murmur. “And should she desire something else entirely, should she regret her actions tonight and wish to escape your detestable company, then you let her go. You will release her with every blessing you know, Spinner, but until then, there is nothing you won’t offer her. Do you understand?”

 

Rumpelstiltskin, for the first time of his own volition, met Anualt’s steely gaze.

 

“Yes,” he whispered. “I would have done it all anyway.”

 

Shockingly, Anualt smiled, a near toothless grin that did nothing to mask her age. “First smart thing I’ve heard out of your mouth today,” she said. “And look at that, intelligence benefits you. The deal still stands.” She gestured to the mantel where her collection of bottles and jars waited patiently. “You treat her well and they’ll have all they need to heal fully, her and your boy.”

 

Rumpelstiltskin laughed just a little, a relieved sound that came unbidden. “Yes. Yes, I promise. Thank you, Anualt, thank you.”

 

“Alright, none of that now. You know who you need to thank, when the time comes.” With a wince Anualt hauled herself to her feet. “Don’t you be moving her,” she said sternly, wrapping herself up in cloak and scarf. “I want her waking naturally and our little princess can survive one night on the floor.”

 

Princess. Rumpelstiltskin smiled. He liked the sound of that. It suited her.

 

“She’ll survive,” Anualt repeated, “but after tonight…”

 

He nodded quickly. “My bed. Or she can take Bae’s and he mine. Or, or… something. We’ll work it out.” Rumpelstiltskin swallowed. “Only the best.”

 

“I’m holding you to that, Spinner.” Anualt summoned a hat seemingly from out of thin air, forcing it over her shriveled head. “It’s a sinful thing to break a deal and Belle deserves better.”

 

Rumpelstiltskin startled. His hands went numb and he lost his grip on his crutch, the wood hitting the floor with a dull thud. He knew he was lucky to be sitting for, crippled or no, his legs would not have held him. Even now he could feel them trembling. Rumpelstiltskin took in shallow breaths, his ears ringing with the sound of bells, summoned by the name.

 

“Belle?” he whispered.

 

Anualt continued to fiddle with her clothes, looking quite unconcerned, but Rumpelstiltskin got the distinct impression that she had deliberately withheld the name until now.

 

“That’s the name she gave,” she said, shrugging.

 

Belle. Not lady, but Belle. Belle—clear and pure and resounding. _Belle._

 

“It’s beautiful.”

 

Anualt barked a quick laugh. “Literally, Spinner. An old name, that. Means ‘beauty.’” They both gazed on the sleeping woman. “It was aptly chosen.”

 

Anualt shook, coming out of her stupor like a wet dog. She reached a twig-like arm into the folds of her cloak and from its depths retrieved a small, square bundle. “One last thing, Spinner.” Pulling the fabric aside she revealed, of all things, a book. She held it out to him and huffed when he didn’t move.

 

“Well go on! It’s not gonna bite you.”

 

Hesitantly Rumpelstiltskin grasped it, fingers skimming over the red leather. No one in their village owned books, but as a trader he knew how to spot quality and this little object would feed him and Bae for three seasons at least. Just the words etched in gold across the cover were worth more than his entire home.

 

“Can you read it?” he asked, holding it up.

 

“Not I, but I’ll bet you a loaf that she can. Found it in a snow bank. Some of pages are a little damp, but…” Anualt reverently traced a thumb along the edges. “She must have dropped it amongst all the foolishness. Unless you think it a coincidence, that she came along and this pretty thing just happened to be near?”

 

No. Rumpelstiltskin could easily picture the lady—Belle—reading from this book, cradling it in her lap, perhaps seated in a grand parlor somewhere. He would swear to it being hers.

 

Rumpelstiltskin was about to ask more: who Anualt thought Belle was, what family line she might come from, why she would ever come to _their_ village… but a sharp look held his tongue. Her lips pursed and Rumpelstiltskin shivered. There were rumors that Anualt could read minds.

 

“As I said, Spinner, I don’t care. And nor should you.” She paused. “Though I will say this, there’s something odd about our little Belle. Young noble woman, out on a night such as this, hardly dressed and wandering into our nest of all places…” Anualt shook her head. “Just watch out for her, Spinner. As well as you’re able.”

 

That nasty voice in the back of his mind insisted that he couldn’t care for her, not at all and certainly not well, but Rumpelstiltskin nodded anyway.

 

A gust of wind suddenly beat against the hut, as if summoned by his dark thoughts. Anualt eyed the door.

 

“I’d best be off,” she said. “It’ll be light soon enough and I’ve done my fair share of good deeds tonight, wouldn’t you say?” Anualt didn’t want an answer though. She just rapped her knuckles against the book’s spine. “You make sure she gets that.”

 

When the door opened they both leaned back, wind and snow sneaking inside. The storm had picked up while they’d worked and Rumpelstiltskin could make out nothing more than dark blurs in the distance, though her house was not terribly far from his.

 

“Should you be out in this?” he asked. “I— perhaps I could…”

 

“What, Spinner? Walk me back?” Anualt laughed mockingly. “No. I’ve had my fill of you. If they find my frozen corpse come dawn that won’t be on your head. Just you remember that Belle’s health and happiness _is_. May the gods help her.”

 

With that Anualt trudged forward, head and shoulders bent. She didn’t bother looking back, not even when he gave another, heartfelt ‘thank you.’ Soon enough Anualt was swallowed by white and Rumpelstiltskin could do nothing else but close the door.

 

Turning, his eyes were immediately drawn to Belle. She’d curled into a ball, whimpering against the cold he’d let in, and Rumpelstiltskin guiltily rushed to tend her. They had no more blankets, but he pulled his own cloak from its hook, tucking it about her shoulders.

 

Belle sighed. She smiled.

 

Gods. It really hit him then. All that had happened in just a few short hours. The dinner he’d been making still sat close at hand, cold and thickening. How had it all occurred? How had he gone from such a normal chore to terror, relief, and then housing _her_? Had anyone told him this morning that he would have a lady as his guest Rumpelstiltskin would have laughed in their face, regardless of the consequences. Were it not for the familiar fire in his knee he would suspect this to be a dream.

 

A beautiful dream. One he never wished to wake from.

 

With that smile still curling her lips Rumpelstiltskin was tempted to stay and watch her, but his own thoughts immediately filled him with shame. No. Anualt was right, she was not his to look upon. He was hers to command. Besides, Rumpelstiltskin had no doubt that she would leave as soon as she was able, within the next day or so if she was lucky. What woman would willingly stay with him any longer than necessary? He knew the answer. But until then, he would make her time with him as bearable as possible. Perhaps Bae, sweet and smart, could entertain her in some feeble manner. Yes. It wasn’t much, but for now they were hers.

 

Careful not to disturb her, Rumpelstiltskin stirred the fire and nestled warm stones against her sides, and when there was no more excuse to stay beside her he returned to Bae. His boy’s deep breathing filled Rumpelstiltskin with joy and here, at least, he could indulge himself, whispering praise and pressing butterfly kissing to his wrists.

 

Rumpelstiltskin spent the night like that, passing back and forth between them. No sooner would he begin to rest his head against Bae’s shoulder then he’d worry that Belle would grow cold, or if he settled down near her he would fear for Bae. Eventually though, even his diligence wore thin and his knee, more abused in the last six hours then it had been in six years, demanded that he stop. Rumpelstiltskin laboriously pulled one of their two chairs into the middle of the room, still in front of Belle, but at an angle where he could see Bae. He eased his leg out and sunk his chin to his breast. He’d rest here only a moment and then check on each of their breathing.

 

Seconds later, he was asleep.

 

***

 

Bae was the first to awaken.

 

One moment Rumpelstiltskin was dreaming of a woman spinning gold cloth and the next there was an insistent tug at his sleeve. He started and blearily opened his eyes.  Bae was there with hands on his shoulder, steading him so Rumpelstiltskin didn’t list off the chair. His son grinned up at him.

 

“Morning, Papa.”

 

His voice was only a hoarse whisper, but Rumpelstiltskin choked at hearing it, gathering Bae into his arms. He went willingly, tossing both arms around his neck while his father nuzzled against his ear. He could still smell the smoke on him but it was fading, replaced by the muskier, earthen scent that was all Bae.

 

“Bae. Gods, Bae. You don’t know, boy. I thought… I thought I’d—”

 

Suddenly Rumpelstiltskin ripped Bae from his arms, giving him a little shake. “Bae! What were you thinking! How many times have I told you not to be playing there? It’s dangerous!”

 

“I didn’t know there was going to be a fire, Papa!” His voice was still soft and gravely, not entirely healed, but he managed to infuse it will all the indignation at a child’s disposal.

 

“Maybe not, but you knew I didn’t want you there. Heavens bless us, Bae, the whole structure nearly came down on your head.”

 

Bae winced at that. “I— I did fall, Papa,” he admitted, “not badly though! Just from the lowest part of the loft. I slept and then…” He trailed off, working to put the pieces together until finally, they formed an image that drew a gasp from his tortured throat. Bae clutched at his father’s hands and tugged, urging him to rise.

 

“Papa! Oh, Papa there was a girl. She was in there with me, she—”

 

“Hush now, Bae—”

 

“No, Papa! I swear it. We have to—”

 

Firmly, Rumpelstiltskin placed three fingers against his son’s lips. “What we have to do is keep quiet, Bae, so as not to wake her,” and with no small amount of amusement indicated for him to turn.

Truthfully, Rumpelstiltskin wasn’t surprised that Bae had missed her when he first came out. Belle had curled into an even tighter ball during the night, burrowing into the cloak and blanket. Bae crept forward and Rumpelstiltskin knew the moment he spotted the mass of chestnut curls. Realizing what the strange bundle was, Bae gave a little dance in silent delight.

 

“That’s her! She’s okay! Isn’t she, Papa? Oh…” he tiptoed even closer, peering at the bandages and ointment. “Isn’t she?”

 

Gently, Rumpelstiltskin guided him away. “She has a few more burn then you do, son, and a bit of the smoke sickness, but she’ll be just fine. You will too, so long as you _rest_.” Bae seated himself at the table willingly enough, but refused to take his eyes off their guest. He craned his neck this way and that while Rumpelstiltskin went about finding breakfast. For a long moment they were content to remain that way: preoccupied with their tasks, but near enough to lend comfort. Neither of them spoke, until—

 

“She saved me, didn’t she, Papa?”

 

The words were still wonderful to hear. They were even more amazing, coming from a safe and sound Bae.

 

“Yes,” Rumpelstiltskin answered, his eyes stinging.

 

“And now?”

 

“Now,” he pressed a bit of bread into his son’s hands, watching him force a piece down his raw throat. “Now we take care of _her_. As long as she’ll let us.”

 

“Yes!” Bae immediately brightened. “So she can stay? I’ll take good care of her; she’ll want for nothing. It’s the least I can do. Oh, Papa, she was so kind in the barn. I—” he hesitated a moment, twisting his bread. “I was _scared_ , Papa. I woke up and I couldn’t see anything, couldn’t get out… but then she appeared and… her name…” Bae’s brow furrowed, trying to remember.

 

“Belle,” Rumpelstiltskin prompted.

 

“Belle,” he breathed. “Yes, that’s it. And then she made fun of my name. Baelfire trapped in a fire!” Bae laughed softly at fate’s sense of humor and if Rumpelstiltskin weren’t already indebted to Belle he would have pledged himself to her then and there. That Bae not only survived the experience, but could now laugh at it as well…

 

“Do you know who she is, Papa?” Bae continued; his mouth stuffed with bread. Despite his aches he was ravenous. “She’s nobility, isn’t she? I could tell, even through all the smoke. Maybe she’s a princess!” Rumpelstiltskin hid a smile, unwilling to admit that he had entertained the same idea himself. “Wouldn’t that be amazing, Papa? I know you hated the barn, but it was really the perfect place for Knights and Dragons, Ciron used to–” Bae suddenly cut himself off, wincing. “Never mind, just, wouldn’t that be _great_? I was playing Knights, but then the Knight was saved by the princess! I’ve never heard a story like that. Maybe–”

 

He would have continued, but just then Bae caught sight of the book. It was lying at the corner of the table, looking even more exquisite in the morning light. Bae let out a gasp and instinctively reached for it. He was stopped only by Rumpelstiltskin’s firm grip, shaking his head at his son’s grubby hands.

 

“That’s hers?” he asked. “Papa, can she read? Do you think she’d read some to me? If I ask _real_ politely –”

 

“I think,” Rumpelstiltskin said, “that you’ll be able to ask her yourself soon.” His eyes were fixed on the bundle by the fire which had begun to stretch and move within the last few moments. One hand poked out to rub blindly at her eyes.

 

Rumpelstiltskin swallowed, nerves and all manner of unpleasant thoughts flooding through him. “There now, Bae. I think our guest is waking up.”

 


	5. The Deal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, friends! I hope you all enjoy chapter five. I am very sleepy and in need of my bed, so if there's messiness here you can blame finals XD 
> 
> Onwards!

Belle woke up warm.

 

She immediately remembered enough to realize that this was a huge improvement from her previous nap in the snow. With a moan she gingerly sat up, head in her hands. When Belle could open her eyes without feeling nauseous she attempted to take stock of her surroundings. She was draped in a new dress, coarse but sturdy, and her hands were skillfully bandaged. It looked as if she had slept in someone’s kitchen. There were chipped cups hanging by her head and there was a cheerful fire roaring beside her…

 

Belle froze.

 

Oh gods. _Fire._

She whipped around, fully intending to… to do _something_ , but her gaze immediately locked with another’s and she _recognized_ that face. Young, warm eyes, mop of dark curls, a face that she’d last seen covered in soot and cradled in her own lap...

 

“You’re alive!” Belle cried, at the same time that Bae exclaimed at her wakefulness.

 

“You saved me!” he amended, scrambling from his chair. He went to rush towards her but stopped himself, adopting the most peculiar expression. Instead of coming to her, Belle watched as he bowed—or at least muddled through a bow—and even placed a hand gallantly over his heart. “M’lady,” he murmured, but his attempts at propriety couldn’t hide his smile. It still tugged at his lips, ruining the formality.

 

Belle let out a laugh that was half a shriek, stumbling out of her cocoon. She shook her head and waved away the gestures, instead reaching forward to grasp both his arms.

 

“None of that!” she cried, cupping his cheeks. “Look at you! Baelfire, isn’t it? Yes, that’s right. Avoiding prophecies, weren’t we? Oh, I am _so_ very glad to see you safe.” Belle laughed again, swinging him into her arms. They rocked against each other, even though it sent pain lacing across her skin and Bae coughed from all the excitement. For just one moment none of that mattered. They were both blissfully happy; experiencing the profound joy found only in realizing that someone you feared for is actually safe and sound.

 

In fact, Belle was so caught up in her relief that it took her a while to realize there was someone else in the room. His back was to them, awkwardly puttering as she and Bae embraced. There was no clear view of his profile, but Belle found that she recognized the hair and there was a memorable crutch tucked against his side…

 

Belle gasped, stiffening as another memory hit her: a man had cried against her legs last night, his face shockingly familiar. His name—

 

“Rumpelstiltskin?” she whispered, untangling herself from Bae.

 

He turned and Belle had to swallow another gasp. It was definitely Rumpelstiltskin… but not _her_ Rumpelstiltskin. His skin was now a scrubbed pink and his eyes had lost their reptilian coloring. He walked with a limp—quite a pronounced one at that— and his entire frame was consumed by a hesitancy that would have been laughable on the Dark One. At first Belle was overjoyed to see him as a _man_ , until she realized that he looked like a broken one.

 

What was even more devastating was the lack of recognition in his eyes.

 

“Yes, M’lady,” he answered, looking none too pleased that she knew his name. Like his son, Rumpelstiltskin gave his own bow, made even more comical by his reliance on the crutch. He straightened with only a small stumble and held out a bowl to her. When it was clear that he wouldn’t meet her eyes willingly Belle looked and discovered that he was offering her a thin, cold stew.

 

“Rumpelstiltskin…” she moved forward, determined that he should see her. She only succeeded in backing him up to the wall though, his arms crossing like he perceived her as a threat and Gods, _what_ was going on? When he still retreated from her Belle felt anger fuelled by fear beginning to heat her cheeks. She drew in a deep breath. “Rumpelstiltskin,” she whispered, “is this some kind of _joke_?”

 

After all, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d committed himself to some elaborate prank, purely for his own amusement. Disguising himself as an abused maid who’d escaped from the “monster’s” dungeon had been particularly cruel joke, one that she hadn’t easily forgiven him for. But this Rumpelstiltskin didn’t laugh and change back in a cloud of purple smoke. On the contrary, he winced so violently that the stew spilled across his tunic and Belle herself leapt back, appalled by his reaction. Bae wavered between them, looking worried.

 

“I’m so sorry, M’lady,” Rumpelstiltskin gasped, pulling the bowl to his chest. Stew seeped into the fabric. “Of course you wouldn’t be wanting this. I— I only made it last night and so thought that— please. Please, forgive me. I’ll head straight to Anualt’s or even Titus’s, find you something decent to eat—”

 

“Stop.” Belle couldn’t listen to this a moment longer. She rushed forward, halting him in his attempt to make for the door, and she was sickened by how badly he cringed from her. Belle couldn’t bring herself to actually touch him, not when he looked like he expected a slap.

 

“Stop,” she repeated, this time more quietly. She placed herself firmly between him and the exit. “Rumpelstiltskin, answer me honestly: do you truly not know me?”

 

He shuffled back. “Of course I know you, M’lady,” he murmured and for just a second her heart leapt. “You saved my son. I’m eternally grateful.” Her hope evaporated. Not only did he not know her, but listening carefully, Belle acknowledged how rehearsed the words sounded. They were restricted by fear.

 

“I see,” and she moved away, giving him some space. Giving _herself_ some space as well, for Belle found that she had to fight against her own light-headedness. “In that case, sir, I owe you the deepest apology.” Belle dropped into a curtsey, missing the comical look of shock that crossed Rumpelstiltskin’s face. “I fear that there has been some grave miscommunication. I did not mean to imply that my question in any way related to your generous offer of food.” Quite generous, give how little stew appeared to still be in the pot. “I believe that I am… confused, after such a hectic night. Please, believe me when I say that I am unfailingly grateful for your care and that you would further honor me by overlooking my foolishness.”

 

Belle drew up the sweetest smile she could muster, but Rumpelstiltskin was shaking his head.

 

“M’lady,” he sounded pained. “I am no sir.” A humorless laugh racked his frame. “—and you owe me _nothing_ —”

 

“Nevertheless,” she insisted. She moved forward just a little, not liking how this Rumpelstiltskin laughed at a simple courtesy. Not liking _any_ of it. “Please. Do you accept my apology?”

 

“He does,” Bae piped up when Rumpelstiltskin refused to. The boy slipped between them. At that his father gave a soft reprimand, but Bae happily ignored it. He knocked his heel against the door. “Papa’s stew really is nasty, M’lady,” he said, drawing a blush from said Papa. “I’d show you the best place for collecting nuts, but I don’t think we can get out right now.” All three peered out the single window where, sure enough, the snow had piled high during the night. It would take far more than a woman, a child, and a cripple to move the door with that amount of snow behind it, at least while the wind was helping it along. “If you don’t like stew there’s bread,” Bae said, offering her his chewed piece.

 

“ _Bae._ ”

 

Rumpelstiltskin sounded beyond mortified. His face was a strange collection of colors – tomato red from shame with pale lips and cheekbones, no doubt at the realization that they were, for the moment, trapped together.

 

As shocked as she was at Rumpelstiltskin being so… _different_ , the numbness was quickly replaced by an uncalled for mirth. Belle had to clamp down on a hysterical laugh. She’d been thrown… somewhere. Had saved a young boy from a fire. A boy that just happened to be Rumpelstiltskin’s _son._ Well, a Rumpelstiltskin that was a pale reflection of the flirty trickster she knew, a man who’d taken a _woman_ as payment for his deal. Now he stood here with her, in another time and place, near tears because of some stew. Gods. Belle pressed her lips firmly together, unsure if, were she to open them, a laugh or a cry would escape. Everything was happening far too quickly and she suddenly feared that she might collapse all together, just bury her head until things started making sense again.

 

“Well,” she ventured after a moment, taking in a shuddering breath. “I thank you _both_ for your offers, but right now I would very much like to… compose myself. Is there perhaps…?”

 

“Yes,” Rumpelstiltskin croaked. He pointed a shaky finger behind her, towards the backroom. “There’s a basin with clean water in there, M’lady. And a chamber pot—” he flushed.

 

“Wonderful.” No need to go down that road just yet. She turned, but just as quickly stopped herself. “There’s just… one last thing.” Belle folded her hands, trying to look as innocent as possible. “What’s the year?”

 

No such luck. Rumpelstiltskin actually met her gaze, so startled was he by the question. Highborn or no, Bae looked like he was questioning their guest’s sanity.

 

“It’s the time of the First Ogre War, M’lady…” he finally said.

 

“… Of course.” Her voice might have sounded a little weaker than she’d intended. A tad faint. “T-thank you.”

 

With that, and with absolutely no regret, Belle fled.

 

***

 

She leaned over the basin, breathing in through her nose and out noisily through her mouth. Belle resisted the urge to vomit into the water. Or toss the ceramic against the wall in a fit of rage. She knew that neither action would be productive and, truly, neither would bring her peace. Although that didn’t mean she wasn’t tempted to try.

 

It did seem that she was entitled to at least a small temper tantrum. She’d been right after all. Time hadn’t just thrown her somewhere, but also some _when._

The First Ogre War.

 

Belle shut her eyes, leaning her head against the small table and breathing, breathing, breathing. She knew all about the First War of course and that knowledge only solidified how very far from home she was. This time was covered in books whose pages were so old they crumpled if you turned them too quickly. The books few but her cared to look at, for they were _ancient._

 

They were teachings any noble boy or girl learned from their tutors. The Enchanted Forest was an incredibly vast world, hosting more kingdoms than anyone really cared to count. Thus, given its size, the histories of various areas didn’t always mesh well together. There were jokes of peddlers who entered a city and were told that it was the sixth age, only to visit another city just a day’s journey away and be told that it was the twelfth. Every king and queen had their own way of measuring time, but the one commonality between _all_ kingdoms was the ogres.

 

Everyone had fought against them at one time or another. All had lost something. And while your neighboring kingdom might engage in a petty war whose name you’ll never learn, it was universally agreed upon that the Ogre Wars were fixed points in an otherwise changing age.

 

It was one of the first facts she’d learned: Belle had been born during the time of the Seventh Ogre War.

 

She reached blindly forward, scooping water and pouring it over her face, her neck. How many years was that then? No, how many _centuries_? There had, after all, been long stretches between each war, as the ogres bred or the humans managed to hide their cities for a time with enchantments. Of course, the longest stretch had come immediately after the first war. After…

 

… after the Dark One had driven them back.

 

Belle shot up, water dripping into her dress. There was no looking glass in the room, but she knew that were she to spot her reflection she’d see understanding in her eyes, followed by a growing determination. The histories said that the Dark One ended the first Ogre War and though Belle was no expert in warfare, she _was_ a bit of a specialist in immortal, all-powerful sorcerers.

 

She took a deep breath. She could work this out. After all, history was nothing more than a story—a story that everyone just happened to agree had actually occurred. So. She had been thrown straight into the First Ogre War. This Rumpelstiltskin was obviously not the Dark One yet, but Belle got the sense that he wouldn’t be long without his powers. After all, the Rumpelstiltskin she knew still looked like a young man, just about the age of the Rumpelstiltskin out there. Surely it couldn’t be another twenty years before he learned magic? Unless the magic had reverted Rumpelstiltskin to his youth, as well as stalled his aging…

 

Belle bit her lip. The truth was she didn’t know nearly enough of the story. Rumpelstiltskin had simply never told her. How had he come by his powers? Did he learn them? Steal them? Belle had heard tales of men who sold their souls in dark rituals for a bit of magic, yet she could no more imagine the scared, gentle man in the next room performing sacrifices than she could jump back to her own time. The Rumpelstiltskin behind her and the one of her future seemed _nothing_ alike. Of course, centuries of power would change any man—turn the weak into heroes or the heroes into monsters—but Belle still couldn’t reconcile Rumpelstiltskin’s meek gestures with the mocking ones he’d come to adopt. This Rumpelstiltskin would never lash a man with his silver tongue, or beat him with that walking stick, or kill, as her Rumpelstiltskin often seemed tempted to do. No. He simply wasn’t capable of it. Not unless there was an excellent reason. Something like…

 

… something like the defense of his son.

 

Belle peered into the water and thought back to her father, daring to call the most feared sorcerer in the world “beast.” Children could make any parent brave, give them courage where previously there had been none, so perhaps… did this have to do with Bae? She held up her hands, bandaged neatly and tingly with medicine. What would have happened had she not been here? The men of the village, they’d made it quite clear they wouldn’t rescue the boy. Would one of them have been swayed by a guilty consciousness if she hadn’t volunteered? Knott perhaps? He might have gone… _might_. If he hadn’t and if she hadn’t… would Bae have died?

 

The death of a son. Rumpelstiltskin had told her once that he’d “lost” his boy, but what did that mean? Was Bae supposed to have died in that fire? Had that grief driven an already lonely man over the edge, leading him to covet nothing but power?

 

Suddenly a laugh escaped Belle’s throat, just a small one, and she gave herself a little smack. Really, she was being ridiculous. The truth was that she knew nothing. She was merely weaving _a_ story, not necessarily the story of the past, and playing to her imagination’s love of drama would get her nowhere. What her situation really came down to was this: Time had thrown her here and Belle needed to find a way back.

 

“Smooth things over,” Belle murmured, remembering his words. Some of her previous anger came flooding back. “Oh yes. That is _so_ very helpful, Time. Thank you. Remind me to wallop you and Rumpelstiltskin both when I return.” Honestly, what did that even _mean_? Should she keep her head low and wait for Time to pull her back? Find her own way and risk changing the future? Of course, it was a little too late for caution, when she may or may not have saved the life of her future employer’s son.

 

“Well,” Belle told the water, picking up a towel. It scratched horribly against her face. “I know one thing—I won’t be leaving this house, not unless I’m asked to. You sent me here for a reason, Time—smooth things over?—well if that’s the case I’m not budging. Besides, where else am I to go?” That was certainly not a reassuring question. What would she do if Rumpelstiltskin didn’t want her here? Just leave? Belle knew, instinctually, that that was perhaps the worst thing she could do. But if they wanted her to leave, however would she explain herself?

 

“Oh dear,” Belle said, dropping the towel. She didn’t need a looking glass to know that she’d gone pale. “How am I supposed to explain _any_ of this?”

 

***

 

Ten minutes later Belle shuffled out of the back room. She didn’t look any different from when she’d first gone in, but all three knew she hadn’t really left to wash or fix her hair. It didn’t seem like her hosts had done much either in her absence. Both sat at the table, Bae demolishing more bread while Rumpelstiltskin stitched a worn tunic. He immediately dropped the garment when he spotted her though, pushing himself up so quickly he nearly lost his footing.

 

“M’lady,” he said, “please sit—”

 

“Oh no, I couldn’t possibly—”

 

“You can have my seat,” Bae joined in, but hushed when Belle raised her hand.

 

“No.” she said. “Thank you, but it’s quite alright. You,” she pointed a stern finger at Bae, shooing him back, “are eating, and you,” Belle glanced at Rumpelstiltskin’s leg, trying to convey sympathy rather than pity, but whatever her face conveyed made him grimace. “I’m not going to make you stand,” she said softly.

 

“You are our guest, M’lady,” he murmured.

 

“Yes, and the rules of hospitality work both ways, don’t they? As hosts it is your duty to treat your guest well, but it is equally _my_ duty not to overstay my welcome.” Belle smiled. Daring, she reached forward, but Rumpelstiltskin skittered back. She dropped her hand. Not just yet, then. “This is your home, Rumpelstiltskin, Bae, and I would not force you from your table for all the gold in the kingdom.”

 

That being said Belle sat on the floor, as much to find a place as to give Rumpelstiltskin some room. With her back to the fire she could see them both clearly and she spread her skirts out with a contented sigh.

 

“But you’re a lady!” Bae protested, looking to his father. Rumpelstiltskin seemed equally befuddled; sick even.

 

“Are ladies not allowed to sit on the floor if they wish?”

 

“They’re not supposed to!”

 

“Really? And who told you this? Have you met many nobles, Baelfire?” The words weren’t meant to be harsh so Belle was relieved to see Bae’s face scrunch in childish frustration, rather than shame.

 

“I know the stories,” he insisted. “Ladies are supposed to be treated like the most delicate of flowers: gently and with great care.”

 

“Oh ho! Gently, huh? Have you forgotten that it was this ‘flower’ that pulled _you_ from a burning building—?”

 

“Stop. Please.”

 

Rumpelstiltskin’s voice cut through their voices, dispelling the frustrated glare that Bae was working up. One glance at his face told Belle that he hadn’t been drawn in by their teasing. He still eyed her seating choice vacantly and his face remained pinched with discomfort.

 

Hesitating only a moment, Rumpelstiltskin began hobbling forward, lowering himself with a pained grimace beside her. As he slowly joined her a large part of Belle wanted to come to him, so as to spare him pain, but she knew that coddling Rumpelstiltskin would do little good. He’d been skittish of her since she’d awoken, so if he was willing to approach her now she would wait for him, however long it took. The only movement Belle made was to lift her head as a sign of her attention.

 

When he was settled, legs propped as comfortably as possible, Rumpelstiltskin put his crutch aside and fluttered his hands awkwardly. They were only about a foot apart and at first the closeness was suffocating, but when Belle didn’t run from him she was pleased to see that he relaxed just a little.

 

Shakily, Rumpelstiltskin extended his pointer and middle fingers, pressing them against his lips. Still glancing to make sure she wouldn’t bolt, he then leaned forward, brushing his fingers lightly against the back of her hand. It was the first time he’d touched her since his relief out in the snow and the contact warmed Belle like his food and blankets never could.

 

The gesture Rumpelstiltskin made was an old one. Really, old enough that it should have been forgotten by now. Though beautiful in its own right, Belle’s history books claimed a sordid origin, the act having arisen from the nobility’s disgust with commoners. As with most kingdoms, it was customary here for a man to kiss the hand of a woman he wished to acknowledge, but as ladies were unwilling to have the filthy masses pawing at their skin, this gesture had been created as a compromise. It was a kiss, but one that was deemed ‘more appropriate.’

 

That Rumpelstiltskin felt the need to employ it made Belle want to weep.

 

But she kept silent and watched as he quickly drew back his hand, gathering it in his lap. He opened his mouth a number of times before finally speaking.

 

“You… you saved my son, M’lady,” he said. For a long moment it seemed that nothing more was coming until Rumpelstiltskin shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know what more to say,” he admitted. “You deserve well crafted speeches to express my gratitude, songs, poetry …” his voice dropped to a pained whisper. “Something grand, but I have never been good with words.”

 

“Oh, I doubt that,” Belle said, thinking of his marvelously crafted deals. If there was one magic Rumpelstiltskin would master in the future it was the turn of a phrase.

 

“It’s true, M’lady. I want to say more but, all I _can_ say is ‘thank you’… and I beg that you recognize the sincerity behind those words, feeble as they are.”

 

“Aye,” Bae said, just as softly. “I— thank you, M’lady. For saving me.” The words held a child’s simplicity and Belle nodded at them both, moved.

 

“As I said, I am _very_ glad you are safe.” She turned to the man seated before her, smiling. “And that _you_ have a son to return to.”

 

Rumpelstiltskin nodded, swallowing hard. “Which is why I’m going to take care of you, M’lady. Everything we have to offer is yours. It’s not much, I’ll admit, but… M’lday, at the very least I won’t have you sitting on the _floor_ —”

 

“You ‘won’t have it’?” Belle murmured, a smile tugging at her lips. He nodded more vigorously. “Not even if I _order_ you to let me sit here?”

 

Rumpelstiltskin’s mouth opened, closed, and opened again. His face eventually settled on scrunching like he’d tasted something sour and the poor man looked so miserable Belle couldn’t help but laugh. It felt good to release a laugh of true humor, rather than one of relief or shock, and impulsively she reached forward to squeeze his good knee.

 

Rumpelstiltskin stilled like a hunted rabbit under her hand. Belle didn’t snatch it back, but she did wince, guilt coursing through her. Neither Rumpelstiltskin seemed terribly confortable with touch, but at least hers just seemed unused to it. This Rumpelstiltskin… Well, he looked as if he expected a very _different_ kind of touch.

 

Belle deliberately let her hand rest there a moment longer, determined to show that she meant him no harm. She ignored his renewed trembling and fought to keep that spark of anger in check. There would be time for that later. Perhaps when they knew one another better. Until then, it would not do to scare him off.

 

Belle removed her hand and with a quick gesture had Bae joining them by the fire.

 

“Perhaps,” Belle said, when he was sitting cross-legged beside her. “Some true introductions are in order.” No time like the present for growing closer. Belle pulled at her skirts, giving another awkward curtsey while she sat. “I am Belle, good sirs. _Just_ Belle. I am not “M’lady” or “princess” or any other foolish title. I am certainly not anyone you need cater to.”

 

“You’re not?” Bae sounded a little disappointed at that.

 

“My line _is_ noble, but it has been a long time since I was treated as such. My own lands were ravaged by the ogres, just as yours have been and there was no time for foolish gallantry, not when everyone had to work equally in order to survive.” Belle nodded. They didn’t need to know that her ogres would be born generations from now, or that her “work” entailed living with a darker version of the man across from her. “Surely you can understand that? Perhaps, during more peaceful times I would have remained “Princess,” but for now “Belle” will more than suffice. I would like to say again that it is an honor to meet you both and I thank you heartily for your hospitality thus far. Now, who might you be?” She met their eyes firmly.  

 

“I’m Baelfire,” Bae said. He smiled at the game but his tone was still courteous. “I’m the son of Rumpelstiltskin. I’m no ‘sir’ either, M’la— I mean Belle.” The smile morphed into a sheepish grin. “Belle. Right. Um… ‘Bae’ is just fine, but I think you figured that out. And uh… you’re welcome, Belle and… thank you again for saving me?” He looked a little unsure about that last bit.

 

“You’re welcome,” Belle said simply. They both turned to Rumpelstiltskin.

 

He shook his head.

 

“Papa—”

 

He shook it harder, drawing back from them. “M’lady—”

 

“Belle.”

 

He bit his lip.

 

“ _Belle_.”

 

“Lady Belle…”

 

Belle grimaced, but after a moment’s consideration nodded her acceptance. That was a start at least.

 

Rumpelstiltskin looked so lost, his hands twisting in his soiled tunic. The remaining stew smeared across his palms, but he didn’t seem to notice. “How…” he stopped to gesture helplessly, “Please… how am I supposed to repay you when— … when you won’t _let_ me. I have no right to your name. We’re not equals.” Belle opened her mouth to protest, but Rumpelstiltskin pushed on, his voice shaking. “How, _how_ do I repay you for something that’s priceless?” His hand found Bae’s, the boy blushing under his father’s obvious adoration. “M’lady… Lady _Belle_ , I promised to do right by you. Anualt—”

 

“Anualt?” Belle’s eyes narrowed. “The elder from last night? What has she to do with this?”

 

“We made a deal.”

 

“A deal?” That at least sounded familiar.

 

“Yes. She’d treat Bae, so long as I took you in, cared for you…”

 

“I see.”

 

Frustration welled up inside Belle, hot and quick. She was sure that Anualt meant well—she’d seemed kind enough last night, amidst all the chaos—but already Belle grew weary of this town’s treatment of Rumpelstiltskin. It wasn’t just his reaction to a simple gesture of affection, or even now Anualt’s distasteful deal. In all the madness of time travel and the fire and finding a younger Rumpelstiltskin, Belle hadn’t had the chance to truly acknowledge that these people would have let a child _die,_ simply to punish his father.

 

She took a good look at this Rumpelstiltskin, noting the painfully thin frame and a bruise on his wrist that looked suspiciously like a hand. Belle had sometimes associated ‘hate’ with ‘Rumpelstiltskin,’ but only because the people of her time thought they hated him, when in truth they only feared him. It was easy to cower before someone with power and then to loath them once you were safe. In truth, she honestly couldn’t begrudge most of them their detestation, not when Rumpelstiltskin’s prices were often so steep.

 

But this man? He was a threat to no one. If anything, he should be the one filled with hate.

 

Perhaps that helped to explain the man he’d eventually become.

 

“Lady Belle?” Rumpelstiltskin swallowed nervously at her silence.

 

“Anualt really refused to treat Bae unless you cared for me?”

 

“Y-yes, but, but we…”

 

“We would have done that anyway.” Bae finished.

 

“Oh, I have no doubt of that,” Belle said softly. She sighed, a long, weary sound. “I won’t say anything, only because I don’t want her withholding treatment.” She listened to Bae’s breathing, his lungs still clearly recovering. Belle’s own hands and back ached. “But I cannot agree with her methods. She never should have used me as a bargaining chip. I’m sorry.”

 

Neither met her eye.

 

“Well,” Belle let the two of them sit a long moment before deliberately brightening her voice. “Either way, it looks like I’ll be here for a while.”

 

“You don’t want to go home?” Bae asked, but his face brightened at the prospect of her staying.

 

“I do, but my situation is… complicated. Oh, don’t worry.” Belle noted Rumpelstiltskin’s nervous swallow and his eyes darting towards the door. “I’m not on the run or anything. I just… don’t have the _means_ to get home. Not yet. I’ll need a bit of time.” Quite literally. Her task was certainly a complicated one: how much time _did_ it take to find a way to jump through time? Belle rested her head against her palm. She could feel a headache developing. 

 

“Then our home is your home, for as long as you wish it.” Rumpelstiltskin whispered and that at least was reassuring.

 

“Thank you, truly. However, you have yet to hear my terms.” With a sigh Belle stood, both men looking up at her confusedly. “Anualt might be giving you medicine to keep me, but that is hardly an equal trade. Bae deserves those drugs regardless.” She smiled down at him, pleased when he smiled back. “Bae? Why don’t you give your father and I some time alone. The two of us need to discuss payment. Also, if it’s not too much trouble, I would love that bowl of stew now.” Belle seated herself at the table, beckoning him forward. “Come on, Rumpelstiltskin. Let’s make a deal.”

 

***

 

The stew, to be frank, was terrible. Even if Belle hadn’t been spoiled rotten by her father’s indulgences and in recent months Rumpelstiltskin’s magical pantry, she would have had a hard time forcing down the concoction. In truth, “stew” was really too kind a word for it at all–boiled water with bits of unidentifiable meat would be a more accurate term.

 

As it was, Belle inhaled her food. Apparently time travel and playing hero worked up quite the appetite.

 

Rumpelstiltskin barely touched his own meal. After sending Bae off with a bowl and the garment he’d previously been mending, he tried to give his portion of the food to Belle. She had steadfastly refused of course, balking at what missed meals would do to his already thin frame. It was clear that he’d given the majority of what they had to Bae so there was no way Belle would allow him to pull the same stunt with her. No, either they both ate or she’d refuse to.

 

He’d seemed shocked by this pronouncement and displeased, but mostly just confused.

 

Thus, Rumpelstiltskin had spent the last ten minutes staring into his bowl, looking for all the world like it held the answers he sought; if he only looked hard enough. Whether his lack of appetite was due to residual nerves about sitting with her ( _that_ had been another struggle) or if he was just waiting for her to finish so he could offer his portion again, Belle didn’t know. At the very least his trembling had eased and she could count that as a victory.

 

“You know,” Belle began, fiddling with her spoon, “I can cook.”

 

At that his head shot up. Belle tried not to smile too much at his stunned expression. Just as quickly it morphed into one of disbelief and Rumpelstiltskin went back to watching his stew.

 

“I’m not a smart man,” he said, “but I do know how the world works. Ladies such as yourself don’t cook.”

 

“Gods, you and Baelfire both. Ladies can’t cook, can’t sit on the floor—What? You think I’m lying? Well…” Belle amended, “I’ve been _working_ on cooking, let’s put it that way. I can do simple meals, but lately I had hoped to improve myself. Cabbage soups and baked chicken thighs aren’t the most exciting meals in the kingdom.” Rumpelstiltskin still looked like she was trying to trick him so Belle sighed, pointing to their stew. “You have to cook the meat until it’s brown, coating it in flour if you’ve got it, then add the stock …” she glanced down, wincing, “… or just water… cook over a high fire until tender and thickened–maybe two hours, maybe more–add vegetables, herbs–I prefer a bay leaf myself, but there are nearly endless variations…” Belle trailed off, shrugging. It was clear that this “stew” had none of those things, only the meat and what might have been a bite of potato— and that was being generous.

 

“You do seem to know what you’re about…” he admitted.

 

“Well… I know stew at least. As for other meals…” He didn’t need to know about those other disasters. “Regardless, I told you, Rumpelstiltskin, I haven’t been ‘Lady Belle’ in quite some time. I prepared stew for our men at arms to take out into the field and more recently, I’ve worked as a housekeeper for a rather… important man.” Best not to get into exactly _whom_ she worked for. No need to avoid the subject though, Rumpelstiltskin was a bit hung up on the “housekeeper” bit. Belle reckoned that in this state she could give him a tap and he’d fall straight down.

 

“ _You?_ ” he said, choking.“You’re a—a—”

 

“Maid? Servant?” Belle grinned. “Absolutely. I agreed to go with him to help protect our village from the ogres, their safety for my services.”

 

Impossibly, Rumpelstiltskin paled even more at that and Belle realized too late how her words could be taken.

 

“Gods, M’lady. Did he—”

 

“ _No!_ ” She cried. Though in truth, she’d wondered if Rumpelstiltskin would… take her, that first night in the dungeon. Belle shivered. He could have been lying to her father when he’d said he was only looking for a housekeeper. Or it might not have been a lie at all, considering that such an act could never be considered “love.” Now, the idea that her Rumpelstiltskin would even _think_ about something so abhorrent… it was impossible. Never in her life had Belle been happier to realize that she had indeed misjudged a person. Rumpelstiltskin was not at all who she originally thought him to be.

 

Now, she wouldn’t be quite so against exploring those… other services.    

 

“No,” Belle repeated, trying to calm them both. She could feel a blush staining her cheeks. “Nothing like that, I swear it. Just… cooking, cleaning, the like.”

 

“I see.” Rumpelstiltskin let out a shuddering breath. “Then… he provided more forces? He had his men fight in return for these… services?”

 

“… Something like that.” Belle took a large spoonful of stew. More likely he’d just zapped the ogres to another kingdom. Or turned them all into snails. Who knew with Rumpelstiltskin.

 

“Then… you’re not truly a servant.” He smiled a little, like she’d just proven something he already knew. “You sacrificed yourself, didn’t you? To provide your village with support?” His voice grew more confident. “You saved them. Like you did Bae.”

 

Belle wasn’t entirely sure how to respond to that, not when he sounded so awed. So she just nodded. It was the truth after all. 

 

“And now?” Rumpelstiltskin’s brow furrowed. “Did he release you or—” His eyes again filled with horror and Belle had to acknowledge that his imagination was nearly as active as her own. “Was he _cruel_ to you…?”

 

“No.” Belle said, more forcefully. “I haven’t lied, Rumpelstiltskin. I’m not running from anything, be it a law or a master. My employer has been nothing but kind to me. Well…” her lips twitched, “he did lock me in a dungeon once.”

 

Rumpelstiltskin gasped.

 

“A quip!” Belle winked, wagging her finger in imitation of another. “I wasn’t serious.”

 

“Oh.” He sighed, looking more relieved on her behalf than she probably deserved.

 

Yes, _now_ she’d lied, but Rumpelstiltskin didn’t need to know that he had once really locked her in a dungeon, laughing at the tears she’d shed that night. Looking back, Belle knew now that those were the actions of a man who simply hadn’t known what to _do_ with her. She’d bet a great deal that he’d asked for her out of loneliness, but that didn’t mean he’d understood that at the time, or would have been able to acknowledge it. She was a person, a human being thrust into the hands of a man who’d spent years with only trinkets for company, so he did what he’d always done with treasure: locked it away. To do anything else would have been terrifying.

 

His fear didn’t excuse his choices, but it did help to explain them. Belle could see that this Rumpelstiltskin dealt with a different kind of fear and she would be damned if she would add to it. Let him think that in the future he’d always treat her as kindly as he did right now.

 

“No,” Belle assured him, scraping the last from her bowl. “My employer has treated me gently. He is a kind man, even if he doesn’t always realize it.” Rumpelstiltskin nodded, unaware of how close his understanding truly was. “We were… separated,” Belle continued. “I have every intention of going back to him–we made a deal after all–it’s just that I’m not entirely sure how and until then I do need a place to stay. I am not, however, out for charity.” She gestured to her empty bowl. “I _can_ cook, somewhat, even if I didn’t get the chance to master anything impressive. I also cleaned for my employer. I can do the same for you.”

 

Belle may as well have suggested that she lick his boots, as comfortable as Rumpelstiltskin looked with that suggestion.

 

“Lady Belle,” he said, “I can’t have you doing that!”

 

“I’m not asking your permission, Rumpelstiltskin.” Belle smiled, tapping her spoon. Let him re-learn how stubborn she could be. “So long as I am here I _will_ do my fair share of work, it’s simply up to you whether that’s payment enough for housing me.”

 

Rumpelstiltskin gapped.

 

“More?” Belle put the spoon to her lips, adopting an exaggerated pose of deep thought. “You’re absolutely right. You’ve not only given me shelter, but also found me new clothes and cared for me most carefully.” She held up a strand of hair that fell over one shoulder. “You think I wouldn’t notice that I’ve been washed?”

 

“Th-that was Anualt,” he said, blushing up to his roots.

 

“Even so. The gesture is appreciated…” Belle trailed off, a guilty pang forming at just how agitated he was becoming.

 

“Rumpelstiltskin,” she said. “ _Rumpelstiltskin._ Listen. I understand that you want to thank me for saving Bae, but I _want_ to help. I _need_ to. I’ve never been very good at keeping still and frankly I don’t know how long I’ll need to stay. I couldn’t stand it if I became a burden and—the gods forbid—I can’t have you waiting on me hand and— _oh!_ ”

 

Belle’s eyes caught a spot of color on Rumpelstiltskin’s side of the table. There, peeking out from a bit of cloth, was a red book. Unthinkingly she snatched it up, running her hands over the cover.

 

“ _Mistress Lina_!” she cried, tapping the words. “Is this yours?” But Belle knew it wasn’t. Even having only found it a day ago she knew her Rumpelstiltskin’s book. This little gem belonged in the Dark Castle’s library and Belle was relieved to see that, besides a few damp pages, it was none the worse for having traveled with her.

 

“No, Lady Belle,” Rumpelstiltskin said. Then, to her surprise he looked away again, his cheeks heating with shame. “We don’t have many books here.”

 

She got the sense that “many” was a euphemism for “none” and Belle’s heart sank. It hadn’t occurred to her that while being stuck here she might not have anything to read. Well, she thought, hugging the book to her chest, she had this at least.

 

“You’re in luck then,” she said, showing him the cover. “I said I’d been hoping to improve my cooking? Well that’s what this is for. Of course, there’s more to household management than meals. With this I can do a great deal now as your maid.” Rumpelstiltskin flinched like she’d struck him, but Belle was too busy flipping through the pages to notice. “This is probably the most useful thing that could have come with me, as fate would have it.” She hummed, thinking of Time’s strange insistence that she should have the book near her. As _something_ would have it, anyway. Though right now Belle cared little about the manipulation, she was just happy she had at least one book with her.

 

“How about we choose a recipe for tonight?” she asked. “Something hearty. I’m sure Bae would like— … Rumpelstiltskin?”

 

He’d stood while she wasn’t looking, taking his crutch and scurrying towards the back room. He stopped when she called him, but wouldn’t turn.

 

“Rumpelstiltskin?”

 

“You’re wrong,” he said and then immediately winced at his words. He spoke only to the wall. “I— I mean, you’re _not_ our maid, Lady Belle. You’re…” Rumpelstiltskin’s voice softened, hands going white against his crutch, but after a moment he shook his head. Belle wanted to insist that he finish, even though she knew it would do little good. As if sensing her intention he hobbled forward another two steps and it struck her that this crippled man was building walls between them faster than a stone mason.

 

“This isn’t a _household_ , M’lady,” he finally murmured, voice cold. “I fear you’ll be sorely disappointed if you try to make it one.” Rumpelstiltskin made as if to turn once more, but again thought better of it. Instead he limped resolutely out of the room. “I’ll just give you a few minutes to yourself.”

 

It was such a tiny house that Belle could have taken four steps and caught up with him, but she let him go. As it was, she could hear him with Bae, begging him to keep silent as the child wondered about their conversation, demanding to know why he’d left Belle all alone. It made her feel too much like a crook to eavesdrop so Belle turned away, seating herself at the farther end of the table.

 

She could still hear their voices. No words, but the tones were clear— Bae’s curious and eager, his Papa’s falling back into a fearful croak.

 

Sadly Belle cradled her book. She’d pushed Rumpelstiltskin too hard.

 

It was all to easy to see how he viewed her: an impossibly cultured lady who’d mysteriously been thrown into a world that was terribly unfit for her, a woman who saved his son and offered services instead of demanding compensation. He couldn’t know that she truly hadn’t felt like a princess in some time and that she was, _literally_ , his housekeeper. 

 

Indeed, how strange she must seem to him. Not that this was anything new of course. The woman who offered herself to a monster, the woman who read like a scholar and fought like a man… Belle was well acquainted with being seen as strange.

 

“Well,” she said to herself, pitching her voice low, “he’ll just have to get used to me. Again.” She poked the book, speaking to it sternly. “I highly doubt our deal is broken just because he’s a few centuries younger than I’m used to, or because he’s too noble for his own good. Oh no, it’ll take more than time travel to make _this_ girl go back on her promise.” Belle tried to smile, but it came out a bit more watery than she’d intended. She quickly brushed the tears away, lest they fall and harm her book further.

 

Really, she had little reason to be weeping. Her life might have gotten a little… hectic, but it wasn’t all bad. She was safe, well cared for, and she still had Rumpelstiltskin, no matter the differences. Besides, Belle had always craved a spot of adventure, a life filled with exotic voyages and the chance to play hero. In the awkward silence that settled around the hut Belle thought she could hear her own Rumpelstiltskin’s giggle— _Be careful what you wish for, dearie._

Indeed. Wishes were magic, and magic always came with a price.

 

It was, however, a price Belle knew she was willing to pay. She would care for Rumpelstiltskin _and_ Baelfire, whether they wanted her to or not and when she returned home—not if, but _when_ —she’d continue to care for her own Rumpelstiltskin as well.

 

She had after all promised him forever.

 

 

 

 


	6. The Book

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! Decided to post the chapter a little early. It's midnight somewhere!

Belle wasn’t left alone for long. No sooner had she begun perusing _Mistress Lina’s Book of Household Management_ then Baelfire snuck in, looking more than a little timid. He seemed wary of her mood and given that Rumpelstiltskin had left quite agitated over their conversation, she couldn’t blame him. However, any hesitancy left Bae when he spotted her, leaving him gasping as he realized she was reading. He scurried over, practically vaulting onto the seat beside Belle. He eyed the book hungrily.

 

“Can I?” he begged. His fingers drummed on the table, inching like worms towards the text.

 

“I’m afraid you’ll have to,” Bell joked, holding up her bandaged hands. “Turning pages is quite beyond me right now.” She slid it over.

 

Gingerly Bae pulled it closer, avoiding the stains in the table even though they had dried long ago. Thumbing the pages he randomly opened to somewhere in the middle, eyes bulging at the number of words on each page. Upside down Belle could just make out the chapter he’d chosen: “General Directions on Puddings and Pastries.”

 

“There’s so many,” he whispered and set to tracing each word. Bae’s finger danced across the page as it followed whole paragraphs only to drop off as if meeting a cliff, the shorter lines of a recipe beginning. From her vantage point, with eyes bright and breath shallow, it looked to Belle like he was reading poetry rather than skimming incomprehensible marks about storing rice pudding.

 

“Where’s your Papa?” she asked, when it was clear that Bae wouldn’t be the one to start a conversation.

 

“I think he’s hiding from you.”

 

Belle choked on a laugh. Yes, that was most likely. She didn’t know if it was distraction or youth that prompted Bae to be so brutally honest, but gods if he wasn’t an adorable kid. Gazing at him, nose nearly touching the page in his fascination, Belle could easily see why Rumpelstiltskin loved him as he did and why losing him may well have torn his heart in two.

 

Belle frowned thinking back to that exchange. ‘I lost him,’… that’s what Rumpelstiltskin had said. A curious word to choose— ‘lost.’ Belle had noted it back in the Dark Castle and earlier as well, that he hadn’t said anything about Bae _dying._ Perhaps it was just the result of a father’s grief, the inability to voice such finality, but Belle’s instincts told her that their story was more complicated than that. A man who built his life around words– words in magic, words in deals–didn’t choose them impulsively, especially not for such a treasured subject.

 

Belle shivered. Still, she couldn’t know that for sure. Had Bae died? _Would_ he die? Was it supposed to have happened in the fire… or would it come later, while she was here? She didn’t want this beautiful boy to worm his way into her heart, only to loose him like his Papa had.

 

Bae finally looked up, the most brilliant smile on his face. Whether she wanted him in her heart or not it was too late now and if she were honest, Belle would admit that she’d been lost to him back in the fire, the moment she pulled him against her chest. She didn’t want to lose this precious boy, but gods if his happiness right now wasn’t worth it.

 

“Do you know your letters?” Belle asked, giving him an answering smile in return. Bae’s own his fell away though, his expression too much like his Papa’s for her liking.

 

“No.” He closed the book. “I don’t know anything.”

 

“Not true! You know lots of things, like how take care of princesses and find the best nuts before the squirrels hide them” That drew the smile back.

 

“Just not about reading,” Bae admitted.

 

“No one in your village reads?”

 

“I think Anualt knows a little and Dolin, the bread maker, he can write his name. He doesn’t really know the letters though, he just learned the, the signing.”

 

“His signature,” Bell prompted.

 

“Yeah. There was an agreement back before I was born. The soldiers out on the frontlines needed more bread to keep fighting. We don’t really have much to spare, but Dolin agreed to find ways to make extra so long as his daughter didn’t have to fight. He put his signature on a paper the commanding officer gave him.”

 

“How old was his daughter?”

 

“Fifteen, I think. She would have gone soon.”

 

“I see.” Belle swallowed around the lump in her throat. She’d read that the early wars took all able-bodied persons for the front lines—even children. At the time sheer numbers were the only ways they’d known how to fight, but _fifteen_? She eyed Bae— growing taller, but still clean-shaven… quite young. How old was he? He may well be drafted soon and Belle shut her eyes at yet another way he might be “lost.”

 

“So this daughter,” she said, trying to remain cheerful. “Is she still around? I’d very much like to meet her.”

 

But Bae shook his head. “She died of sickness two years later.”

 

“Oh.” Wasn’t that was the way of things. Belle just wished that fate didn’t always have such a sick sense of humor.

 

“And let me guess,” she said sadly, “Dolin is still making bread for the frontlines?”

 

“Uh huh. He made a deal. It was supposed to be over after a few years, but then Hordor came…”

 

“Hordor?”

 

“The knight that picks us for the battlefield.”

 

Belle shivered. No, she truly didn’t like the way Bae said ‘us.’ Children shouldn’t be involved in a war and certainly not one such as this. Even Gaston, twice their age and possessing the best training their kingdom had to offer, had feared to confront the ogres. He’d never have admitted it of course, but Belle saw him shaking each night as they drew closer to their town. His willingness to keep watch despite that fear had been the one thing that Belle might have loved him for.

 

“Hordor doesn’t care for deals.” Bae continued, drawing Belle from her thoughts. “He’s cruel, taking whatever he wants even when we can’t spare it. He says the soldiers need bread—”

 

“—so Dolin makes bread,” Belle finished with a grimace. “Well, you point out this Hordor to me the next time you see him. I’d like to give him a good kick in the rear.” A kind way of putting it…

 

To her relief Bae giggled. “I bet you could too.” He said. “If you’re as good at fighting villains as you are at saving people from fires.”

 

“Well, I admit I haven’t had that much experience with either, but I did tame a beast once. Does that count?”

 

Belle wanted to laugh at how wide Bae’s eyes went. If only he knew. The library that waited for her back home was a testament to how well she had ‘tamed’ the Dark One; quite the step up from her original dungeon. The thought of books brought her back to their original topic and Belle tapped the red leather.

 

“You know,” she said. “My deals are far more favorable than Hordor’s.”

 

Bae looked confused.

 

“Go check on your Papa. Make sure he’s okay.”

 

Bae still looked lost, but he ran to the other room, popping his head out just a second later. “I think he’s asleep,” he whispered.

 

Belle stood, going to him. Sure enough, she found Rumpelstiltskin sitting on the one bed, forehead resting in the crook created by the wall and his staff. The crutch was leaning precariously between his knees and might well slip at any moment. It looked as if Rumpelstiltskin had attempted to darn some more after he’d fled their conversation, but he hadn’t gotten very far, if the unthreaded needle on his knee was anything to go by. Carefully, Belle removed both needle and crutch as Bae eased his father down onto the bed. He never even stirred and Belle had to work around the lump in her throat at how exhausted he looked. No doubt he’d been up all night watching over them both. Bae leaned over to press a quick kiss to his Papa’s forehead.

 

“C’mon,” Belle urged, taking his hand.

 

Together they went back out into the kitchen, Bae pulling down a moth eaten curtain to give his Papa some privacy.

 

“Deals?” Bae asked when they were seated once more.

 

Belle nodded. “I’ve had… some experience with them. Your Papa and I were working one out while you were in the other room. Basically, your hospitality for my services – cooking, cleaning, stuff like that. Your Papa… he wasn’t exactly pleased with my terms.”

 

“You want to _clean_?” Bae asked incredulously. Like father like son.

 

“Yes. _But_ —” Belle didn’t want to get into that debate again, not so soon at least. “It occurred to me that Rumpelstiltskin isn’t the only resident here. I have every intention of helping him maintain your home, but you should receive something as well, Baelfire.” Belle smiled. “The whole saving you thing aside, not many would just invite a strange woman into their home, let alone keep her for an undetermined amount of time. I’m grateful. I want to express that.”

 

“Oh. Okay. But how?” Bae leaned back, more than a little unsure.

 

Belle pushed her book back towards him. “How would you like to learn to read?”

 

Really, she couldn’t have caused a larger explosion if she’d tinkered with the potions in Rumpelstiltskin’s lab. Bae leapt from his seat, launching himself halfway across the table. His hands waved wildly for a moment before they found Belle’s, grasping them so hard that she had to concentrate on not wincing. Her singed palms were still incredibly tender, but Bae’s smile was worth the pain. He grinned so widely she could see the tops of his gums and the back of his throat. Belle watched, amazed at the reaction, as he sought out words, gulping great, happy lungful’s of air. Even the rattle in his chest sounded purely joyful.

 

“Oh Belle,” he finally gasped. “Do you _mean_ that?”

 

“Of course I do. I take it you’d like to learn?” Belle couldn’t help the shocked giggle that escaped. If she’d known that she’d get this reaction she would have offered to teach him the moment she walked through the door.

 

“Yes! A thousand times yes! Oh I’ll be a good student I swear it I’ve always wanted to learn just you wait oh wait ‘till Papa hears—”

 

“He’ll be hearing very soon if you don’t lower your voice, Bael.”

 

“Oops.” He drew down into his seat, but still vibrated like a top. “He’ll be so pleased,” Bae continued, thankfully at a lower volume. “Papa always wanted me to learn, but he never knew himself and I don’t think Mama did either—” Mention of his mother had Belle tensing with curiosity, but Bae plowed ahead, oblivious. “Can you teach me to write too? I’d love to know my name—”

 

“Yes,” Belle interrupted. “In fact, it will be easier for you to learn reading if you first learn to write a few words. But—” she stalled another excited monologue. “We haven’t finalized the deal yet, Bae. I have two more conditions.” Belle held up two fingers, wiggling them. “One: you’ll have to work very, very hard.”

 

“Of course!” Bae actually sounded insulted by that.

 

“Excellent. And two,” Belle leaned forward, dropping her voice seriously, “you have to help me with your Papa, okay? I don’t know how long I’ll be with you, but I won’t spend that time being waited on, no matter how stubbornly he insists. He needs to understand that. So I need you to _help_ him understand that— no more ‘M’lady.’ If I want to be a maid then by the gods, I’ll be one.” Belle grinned. “No one decides my fate but me, yeah?”

 

“Yeah!” Suddenly Bae dropped his eyes, cheeks heating in embarrassment.

 

“What?”

 

“I’ll help I… I _want_ you to stay. I like you, Belle.”

 

“As I like you,” she held out her hand. “So, deal?”

 

“Deal.”

 

They shook on it. Belle was well pleased to feel how strong Bae’s handshake was; brimming with confidence, but tender enough to dismiss arrogance. There was a brave boy sitting across from her and Belle was sure that, between the two of them, they could do well by Rumpelstiltskin.

 

Smooth things over, indeed.

 

***

 

Bae wanted to start immediately of course, but there was a bit to be done before any lessons could begin. It didn’t seem to matter that they hadn’t been up all night like Rumpelstiltskin, Belle knew that she at least we exhausted and could do well with a break. They each also had wounds that needed tending. So they decided to sit quietly for a time, resting both bodies and minds. Together they found the medicine Anualt had left them on the mantel and Bae confidently set to treating them. He recognized the smallest blue bottle, having been given a similar concoction the winter before.

 

“I had a bad cough,” he explained, popping the cork. “I told Papa I was fine, but it just wouldn’t go away. After three weeks he finally gave Anualt one of our sheep as payment.”

 

Belle had figured out on her own that Rumpelstiltskin was a spinner by trade. His fascination with the wheel in her time was a bit of a giveaway. Still, it was odd to picture him working with sheep, holding and shearing the animals when their wool developed.

 

“Do you have many?” Belle found herself asking. The disturbing image of her Rumpelstiltskin cavorting in a flock would not leave her.

 

“No. Just a few. We haven’t a dog to herd them.”

 

“Then your Papa must have been very concerned to give up one. What use had Anualt for a sheep?”

 

“She ate it.”

 

“…Oh.”

 

Taking the blue bottle Bae downed the liquid… and then promptly gagged. Belle caught a whiff of the stuff and was hit by memories of the medical tent her town had been forced to set up, long before her father caved and summoned Rumpelstiltskin. A refuge for the ill and wounded, it had been an unpleasant place during even their most peaceful days. One man Belle had helped tend to had a wound in his leg, gained from a splintered club. The gash, though shallow, had eventually festered and Anualt’s potion smelled _exactly_ like that.

 

“Oh no,” Belle cringed back playfully when Bae offered her the rest, but gave in quickly enough. Plugging her nose she chugged and moaned when viscous fluid ran down her gullet.  Belle’s stomach rebelled but her throat gave thanks. Already she could feel the smoke’s damage beginning to heal.

 

The balm they found for their burns was a far sweeter medicine. Cool and silky, it left the faint smell of cucumbers as it sank into their skin. Belle removed the bandages from her hands so that they could find relief as she bathed Bae’s neck and cheeks. He returned the favor, stuttering only briefly when she lowered her gown to reach her back. Belle again marveled at this boy, willing to quickly push down embarrassment and do what needed to be done, not matter the task. Sighing, she also praised his willingness to treat them equally. There was no, “you first, M’lady,” or, “please take my share, M’lady.” Perhaps it was youthful selfishness, but Bae had given up on treating her like a princess with a speed that Belle could only be grateful for.

 

“There.” Belle laughed at the smudges of cream across Bae’s nose. She re-wound the bandages on her hands. “Don’t we look dashing? Are you feeling better?”

 

“Yes! So, now…?” Bae prompted her with a glance towards the book, none too subtle.

 

“Of course. C’mon.”

 

With hastily contained cry Bae snatched up his prize. They seated themselves by the fire this time, needing the extra light as night had begun to fall. The warmth was a welcome addition too, heat easing the tension from their limbs. Bae of course remained a coiled spring, his body so tight that he may well have burst with eagerness.

 

Belle had realized the second she’d made her offer that there would be difficulties in teaching Bae to read. The most obvious issue was that they had no paper to practice with, not in this house, and perhaps not in the whole village. Belle knew only how to teach in the way she’d learned: copying out the beautiful script of her tutors again and again. However, she was surprised to find that Bad at least had something to write with, or rather, draw with— bits of black chalk he used for making stick figures on the sides of huts or, before, keeping tally during games.

 

“Before?” Belle asked.

 

Bae shrugged. “There’s no one except Morraine to play with. The older children went off to fight and the younger ones…” he shrugged again, saying quickly, “They’re _too_ young for such games.”

 

Belle thought it far more likely that the other children didn’t want to play, no doubt having picked up on their parents’ hostility towards Rumpelstiltskin. She felt another rush of anger but tempered it, taking the chalk as gently as she could.

 

“Sure you don’t want to save it?” Belle asked, but Belle shook his head and his resignation broke her heart.

 

So it was with only a slight hesitation that Belle took up a piece, turning to the back of the book. Bae’s face lighted again, his disappointment forgotten with the promise of learning to read.

 

“Now,” Belle said, “I’m sorry to inform you that this is a terribly boring book, certainly not the rousing tales you should be learning from.” Not that _she_ had gotten anything thrilling in her lessons. Copying from the town’s ledgers was worse than any cookbook.

 

“No knights?” Bae pouted.

 

“Ah. I’ve known my fair share of knights, Bae, and I can assure you, most of their lives aren’t that exciting.” Unless you were Gaston, and you considered being turned into a rose and mistakenly dismembered by your ex-betrothed ‘exciting.’ It had taken a month for Belle to get suspicious (the rose never wilted and since when did merchants visit the Dark Castle anyway?), a week convincing Rumpelstiltskin to turn him back, and another three days before he’d reattach poor Gaston’s legs. At least Rumpelstiltskin had provided him with a memory charm… that just also happened to erase his memory of Belle. She shook her head, exasperated with a man who wasn’t even there to yell at.

 

“Sorry Bae, no knights. No dragons, no adventure. Not unless you consider cooking adventurous. I wish I’d known to bring something a bit more entertaining.”

 

While that was true, Belle again found herself wondering why Time had wanted her taking this text with her, or, more fascinatingly, how this commoner’s book had wound up in the magical section of Rumpelstiltskin’s library. She’d seen the other books: ancient collections of spells, lore on magical creatures, scrolls that glowed at night, and dark tomes that refused to open… _Mistress Lina’s_ book just didn’t fit. Despite the chaos of his possessions, Belle knew that Rumpelstiltskin wasn’t the type to so blatantly miss-categorize. There was a reason her book had ended up in that room, she just couldn’t fathom why. It was just one more question Belle had for him, when she eventually got back home.

 

Well, there was little doubt about how magical the book seemed to one person at least.

 

“This,” Belle said, holding up the cover, “is _Mistress Lina’s Book of Household Management._ ” Bae’s eyes went wide at the lengthy title and Belle laughed at the cross-eyed expression. “Don’t worry, it sounds more intimidating than it actually is. We’ll get to all that—the length of words, forming sentences—but first you need to learn your letters.”

 

It was with a grimace that Belle explored the final pages of the book, trying not to leave any chalk smudges on the white pages. Stupid, considering that it wouldn’t matter in a moment. The end of the book contained a hefty index of terms and recipes, but there were three beautifully blank sheets to finish it off.  She hoped that Rumpelstiltskin would forgive her. Already she felt sick with the idea of disfiguring a book, but at least it was in the service of teaching another to read. With a resigned sigh Belle started at the top of the first black page, writing “The Alphabet” in flowing script.

 

“What’s that say?” Bae asked, pointing eagerly to the words.

 

“I’m not saying.” She poked at his curious hand, leaving blotches of chalk across his knuckles. “You’ll figure it out for yourself soon enough.”

 

Underneath “The Alphabet” Belle carefully wrote out the different letters, including their capitalizations and minor aesthetic variations, changes dependent on the region one was reading in. There were also a few accents that were only used towards the marshlands, but best that it all be learned at once. Bae watched her hand moving across the page with awe.

 

“You’re really good at this,” he murmured.

 

“Why thank you. It takes a great deal of practice, but don’t get discouraged already. Besides, I’ve always had my head in a book. Writing is just an extension of reading.” Indeed, if there had been one courtly lesson Belle _hadn’t_ despised, it had been penmanship.

 

“There.” She handed the book to Bae, watching him gulp at the amount of space the letters took up. “This is the boring part. We’re going to go through each and every one of these— _slowly._ I’ll tell you their names and the sounds they make and then you’re going to practice copying them out.” Belle ran the edge of her skirt over the packed dirt floor, smoothing it as much as possible. Tongue between her teeth she pulled a pin from her hair, one of the few that had survived her venture into the fire. “Use this. You can write in the dust for now, since we don’t have a lot of paper. Go it?”

 

Bae nodded.

 

“Let’s see how much you can learn before your Papa wakes up, yea? How much you can impress him with?”

 

“Yes!”

 

“Alright then. We start with ‘A.’” Belle pointed to the letter, tracing her finger up, down, and across. “‘A’ has two sounds: it can sound like its name, or like ‘ah.’ If you need a reminder, think of when a healer asks to examine your throat…”

 

***

 

Their work was slow going and even Bae, eager student that he was, quickly grew tired of scratching out the same letters again and again. Belle knew that repetition was key, but also that knowledge couldn’t come all at once. By the time it was completely dark outside she was gently pulling the pin from his hand, looking in pride at the row of J’s that curved around their feet.

 

“Well done, Bae,” she said. 

 

He smiled, a tired, wonderfully grateful smile.

 

“It’s good?”

 

“Oh, most definitely.” Teasingly she poked him with the blunt end of the pin, making him squirm and giggle. “It took me _days_ to learn ‘G.’ I kept getting distracted, blathering to my tutors about how it looked like the maw of a beast come to devour me.”

 

“You’re making that up!”

 

“I am not! I was quite the imaginative child.”

 

Bae grinned. “Belle, do you think—?”

 

But he was interrupted by a quiet groan from the other room and then a slightly louder thud. They both froze, listening for more. Then… quietly… there came a string of soft but creative curses. Belle stifled a laugh, leaning over to cover Bae’s ears as he batted her away.

 

They were still poking fun when Rumpelstiltskin stumbled in, looking greatly disoriented. His eyes went first to the table and, finding nothing, quickly settled on their little nest by the fire. His eyes widened.

 

“M’lady,” he murmured. He looked as if he’d forgotten she was there.

 

“Belle,” she insisted, standing and making her way carefully around Bae’s work. “Did you sleep well, Rumpelstiltskin?” 

 

“I—” he stared a moment, jaw working, before settling on a nod. Slowly and with great hesitancy, the world’s tiniest smile graced his lips. “Yes, Lady Belle. Quite well actually. I suppose I needed the rest.”

 

“That you did. I expect you’ll still sleep well tonight too. We all will.”

 

The continued talk of beds and sleeping was causing a blush to rise to Rumpelstiltskin’s cheeks, so Belle moved off, gesturing that he look to the work at their feet. “Would you like to see what we’ve been up to?”

 

Bae immediately took hold of his Papa’s attention, as Belle knew he would. Animatedly he began pointing out the different letters they’d gone over, jumping from one concept to another so quickly that Rumpelstiltskin was swiftly left behind. He seemed to grasp the purpose of the lesson though and if anything he was more stunned by what Bae was learning than in finding her still seated in his home. Indeed, Belle snuck a peek and saw that Rumpelstiltskin’s jaw had slackened, giving him a fish-look that was funnier than it probably should have been. He hobbled over to the fire and used his crutch to balance himself, leaning over as far as he could. Unconsciously, he raised a finger and wrote; trying to copy in the air the symbols they’d drawn in the dirt.

 

“Reading, Bae?” he asked, awe coloring his voice.

 

“Yes, Papa! That’s ‘A,’ and ‘C,’ and over there is ‘F.’ That one’s hard because it looks kinda like ‘E’ only with one less line. And you’ve got to pay attention to whether you’re writing a small letter or a big letter. I don’t know when you use which yet, but Belle says—”

 

Bae prattled on, but at the sound of her name Rumpelstiltskin’s head rose. Their eyes locked, Belle offering a smile he didn’t return. His face was still a mask of wonder, but the next emotion dominating was shamed gratitude. Belle recognized the expression well. It was the same one he’d worn when, seated in the Dark Castle, she offered him comfort over his lost son.

 

“A quick study, isn’t he?” Belle sidled up to him, whispering so as not to interrupt Bae’s continued explanations.

 

“Lady Belle—”

 

“Don’t you dare, Rumpelstiltskin,” Her voice was still pitched low, but Belle didn’t bother hiding the ferocity behind it. “I won’t compromise in this.”

 

He jerked, clearly not having expected such a fight. Belle pressed her advantage, willing him to understand. 

 

“I saved him,” she whispered.  “That much is true, but I would have done the same if I was the lowest beggar or the Queen herself. Status is not in play here. You’ve repaid me with your gratitude and I swear to you, that’s all I ever wanted in return.” Belle leaned in close, forcing Rumpelstiltskin to either see her or risk stumbling back and ruining Bae’s work. “You are equally deserving of thanks, don’t you see? You graciously let me into your home, even though I _know_ you barely have enough for two.” He winced, eyes flitting towards their empty bowls. “That’s amazing, Rumpelstiltskin, whether Anualt goaded you into it or not. So please, let me give as much as I can in return, for you _and_ Bae. Will you honestly tell me that you regret this?” They both looked at the boy, stubbornly tracing out another ‘E.’

 

“No,” Rumpelstiltskin whispered.

 

“Then for once in your life just say ‘thank you’ and let us be done with it.’

 

“Thank you.”

 

The words come immediately and with such heartfelt honesty that Belle was tempted to take back her own harsh words and then weep for good measure. Rumpelstiltskin didn’t look much better and gods, what a pair they made. She was half convinced that she’d return to her own time a blubbering fool, open to a thousand wonders that she’d previously overlooked and was now ridiculously grateful for.

 

“Papa!” With triumph Bae underlined his first word in the dirt, the one they’d spent quite a bit of time on. “I can’t do my whole name yet,” he explained. “I haven’t got all the letters, but look! That’s ‘Bae’!” He tapped at the word again, bouncing excitedly.

 

“That’s wonderful, Bae.” Rumpelstiltskin murmured, voice thick. “Truly.”

 

“It was the perfect word to start with,” Belle said. “Short, early in the alphabet, no odd pronunciations, and everyone should know their name.”

 

“You’ll teach me ‘Baelfire’ as well?” Bae asked eagerly. Belle nodded.

 

She had always adored reading, but Belle had never loved it as much as she did right then, watching Bae sound out letters for his Papa. For the past few months she’d also come to love Rumpelstiltskin’s smile, but this one, the softer, terribly shy one, tugged at her heart just as much as his grins did.

 

“C’mon,” Belle said, daring to pull at Rumpelstiltskin’s sleeve. “C’mon,” she said louder, plucking at Bae’s shirt as well. “I think it’s about time we found ourselves something to eat.”

 

“Already?” Bae complained. He petted the book like it was a beloved pet.

 

“Yes,” Belle laughed. “In case you haven’t noticed the sun sank quite some time ago.” She gazed around their dark home, spotting a few candles tucked in the corner. “How about I get us some light?”

 

The house was far too small to provide anything resembling privacy, but Belle made sure to busy herself with the whisks as Rumpelstiltskin gathered his son up in a tight embrace. She couldn’t hear what Bae muttered against his chest, but his Papa’s whispers were crystal clear: a constant string of praise and the reiteration that he was proud, so very proud of his boy.

 

“Maybe Belle will teach you to read too, Papa!”

 

_That_ came out loud and clear. From the corner of her eye she saw Rumpelstiltskin stiffen. Quickly, Belle lit the last of the candles, faltering only briefly with her bandaged hands.

 

“There!” She said, a little more loudly than was necessary. Untangling himself from Bae, Rumpelstiltskin hid his face as he made for the table and even the additional light didn’t help Belle to read his expression. She knew what embarrassment looked like though and it was emanating fiercely from his coiled shoulders. Belle wanted for them to enjoy their meal as much as possible, so she decided not to ask Rumpelstiltskin if he did indeed want to read, at least not tonight.

 

Candle in hand, the other reaching for the rest of the stew; Belle’s thoughts brought her up short. That first day in the library… she’d asked him, hadn’t she? ‘Rumpelstiltskin, who taught you to read?’ He’d claimed that he’d taught himself over the centuries, but hadn’t there been a catch to his voice? The slightest thread of uncertainty? Belle bit her lip. Given her rather unique situation, nearly anything was possible. Could it be that _she_ had taught him to read? Or… that she _would_ teach him and then she would _have_ … Belle shook her head, growling at the complexity of it all. That she _could_ teach Rumpelstiltskin was a given, rather the question was whether she should. Settling into this life was all well and good, but Belle couldn’t forget that she did not and would not ever belong here, not permanently. The last thing she wanted was to pose any danger to this Rumpelstiltskin or to the one of her future. But surely, even if Rumpelstiltskin had taught himself the first time around, a little change wouldn’t hurt too much, right? Not when it was something as wonderful as reading…

 

“Belle?” Bae’s voice drew her back. “You okay?”

 

“Oh yes, sorry. I just wish this little trip had come with an instruction manual.”

 

He scrunched his nose endearingly. “ _What_?”

 

“Nothing.” Belle hoisted the pot. “Who’s up for stew?”

 

It wasn’t as if there was any choice involved. Stew was all they had at the moment—two days old now and nearly gone. Until the snow let up there was little they could do but ration what food they had. So Belle scooped them all a portion into crude wooded bowls and seated herself in the remaining chair, Bae graciously hopping up on the table to sit between them.

 

The silence, though strained, was not as uncomfortable as it might have been. Rumpelstiltskin still seemed shocked but what he’d awakened to and continued to cast looks at Bae’s letters throughout the meal. Belle was quite pleased with this result. If Rumpelstiltskin’s wonder at his son’s education kept him from offering his portion to her, or worrying over a lack of table manners, then it was all for the better.

 

And Belle made good use of the silence, not only to organize her own thoughts but also to plan ahead. She’d said it numerous times to these men, but it hadn’t truly hit her until today when Belle found herself promising Bae lessons indefinitely: she had no idea how long she would be here. Finding a way home was her first priority of course, but until magic presented itself in this tiny village, or Time decided to recall her, there was little she could do, practically speaking. Until then the game was all about survival and if possible, comfort. Belle had spoken truthfully before when she called Rumpelstiltskin on his lack of provisions; there was just enough for a growing boy and a Papa who was willing to eat less than he actually needed. Cleaning and cooking were all well and good, but Belle would be of little help if there wasn’t food for her _to_ cook. She had no coin to offer, but she could, perhaps, give them something of equal value.

 

Her eyes strayed towards Rumpelstiltskin’s wheel.

 

It wasn’t her first choice, not even her second, but Belle could think of no other option. She was fairly sure that Time hadn’t meant for her to starve to death.

 

“The snow’s stopped!” Bae’s cry was jarring in the silence, all three heads turning to look out the small window. Really it could hardly be called a window as there was only a thinly barred plank of wood instead of glass, but the unobstructed view to the outside allowed them to see that, indeed, the thick flurries had finally stopped. There looked to be a good five feet of snow piled outside their door with higher mounds rising in the distance.

 

“We’ll have work our way out tomorrow,” Rumpelstiltskin said, shivering at the thought. “I’ll need your help, Bae. We were able to leave the sheep on their own for a time, but they’ll need tending now, and perhaps we should stop by the market…” he said ‘market’ like another man might say ‘dungeon.’ Or perhaps ‘the depths of hell.’ Belle couldn’t help but grow worried at the fear entering his eyes.

 

“K’, Papa,” Bae said, still craning to look out the window.

 

“You of course can stay here, Lady Belle. It’ll be hard and difficult work—”

 

“All the more reason why you should have an extra set of hands.” Belle nodded at his knee. It was a cruel reminder, but Rumpelstiltskin would need it if he were to accept her assistance. “I can shovel as well as any man.”

 

“We don’t have a shovel,” he admitted, but Bae was already speaking over him, telling Belle of the people she’d see if she came with them to market.

 

“You can meet Dolin!” he exclaimed, recalling their conversation. “He’s very nice to strangers when they pass through. It’s not often, but he always gives them a little sweet roll.” Bae’s eyes lit up at the mere thought of such a treat. “If he gives you one can I have a bite?”

 

“Yes,” Belle laughed. “More than a bite, certainly. And you must introduce me to everyone. I’d like to meet the village— _not_ while battling another fire, thank you very much. Is it far?”

 

“A bit of a ways.” Rumpelstiltskin said. He stared glumly into his stew. “We set up in a large field to the south, away from battle.” His head dipped towards the far wall where Belle knew, if she were to start walking north, she’d eventually hit the red sky that accompanied the fighting between humans and ogres. It was hardly surprising; if Belle were one of the villagers she too would want to meet somewhere where the war could be forgotten, or at least more easily ignored.

 

“It takes a little over an hour,” Rumpelstiltskin continued. “More in the snow. We’re lucky though, some walk much farther.” He didn’t sound as if he really considered them ‘lucky.’ “Our village is nearly center among the twelve, so it makes sense to have market nearby. We’ll be home by the time the moon rises.”

“And then you’ll teach me more reading?” Bae asked. He drew nonsensical letters with the handle of his spoon.

 

“Of course. I promised, didn’t I?”

 

“And a story? I’d love to hear one. I bet you know loads—”

 

“ _Bae_.” Rumpelstiltskin looked pleadingly between them, already half defeated. “Son, you can’t be demanding all this of her—”

 

“Tell you what,” Belle said, waving away the concern. “I’ll give you a story tomorrow so long as your Papa agrees to speak with me before market.”

 

Rumpelstiltskin startled, his eyes clearly saying he hadn’t a clue what more they could discuss. Belle hated to cause him more worry, but market meant buying supplies, and supplies meant coin. There was no way she could complete her plan by tomorrow, only set it in motion, and to do that she needed to give Rumpelstiltskin a little demonstration. Until then, a bit of secrecy couldn’t go amiss. Belle knew that any words like ‘help’ or ‘gift’ would only hurt her cause, so for now Belle only shrugged evasively. “Just a chat,” she said.

 

“Papa?”

 

Leave it to a child to sway a stubborn man in a moment; even the most mulishly humble of men.

 

“… Very well, Bae.”

 

“Yes!”

 

“Great.” Belle swooped up, claiming their bowls and setting them beside the door to later be washed in the snow. There was little else to be done until morning and Bae was already off again, telling a bemused Rumpelstiltskin about how the book they were reading didn’t have any knights in it and Belle said knights weren’t even that exciting, but he was _sure_ that her story would have heroes, even if they weren’t knights… It was clear she wasn’t needed right now. So it was with a somewhat exaggerated yawn that Belle seated herself by the fire once more, this time gathering up the blanket and cloak that served as her bed. She curled into a small ball, nestled between the warm stones and Bae’s first lesson. She peeked up at the two men from her cocoon.

 

“If you don’t mind terribly,” she said, “I think I’ll sleep early tonight. It’s been a rather full two days.”

 

Bae nodded, pausing in his speech and finding that her yawn was contagious. Rumpelstiltskin had that sour look about him, but he already seemed resigned.

 

“Lady Belle… the beds—”

 

“Are for you and Bae. I was quite comfortable here last night and I’m sure I will be again.”

 

Belle stretched a little, tucking into a tighter ball. In truth, the floor was a far cry from the feather beds she was used too; dirt and straw could hardly compare to the mattresses of her father’s estate, or the bedding stuffed with the kelp that Rumpelstiltskin had procured for her. Aquatic plants harvested from a mermaid’s domain were incredibly rare, but Belle could attest that it was the softest material she’d ever come across— and a fitting apology for spending two weeks in a dungeon. She’d certainly prefer these things, if given a choice, but Belle was tired enough that she didn’t think it would matter. Besides, she knew that if she caved in on one luxury she’d never get Rumpelstiltskin to treat her equally, let alone relax around her.  

 

“G’night, Belle.” With their deal in place Bae took no issue with her sleeping on the floor. He stumbled over, top heavy with exhaustion and leaned down so she could give him a kiss. As he pulled back Bae gave a little wink, casting an amused glance at his Papa’s discomfort.

 

“Good night, Bae.” She said, and with a note of finality: “Good night, Rumpelstiltskin.”

 

Belle turned away and closed her eyes, but she could still hear everything happening around her. Rumpelstiltskin and Bae said their own goodnights, the elder explaining that he wasn’t quite ready for sleep yet, not when he’d just awoken. So with Bae tucked safely into the straw bed above them, safe in a miniaturized loft, Rumpelstiltskin thumped back into the main room, the embarrassed pauses telling her that he was trying to muffle the sound of his crutch.

 

There was a much longer pause then and Belle wondered if he was looking at her.

 

She kept her face impassive, feigning a quick surrender to sleep, and soon enough Rumpelstiltskin hobbled over to her right. With a sigh Belle heard him settle down at the wheel, taking up the work he’d been neglecting recently, what with all of the last day’s excitement. There was another relieved sigh as his crutch was left against the wall and he was free to move in a way that came naturally. Belle felt the shift of air about her face as the wheel began to spin.

 

Slowly, Belle found her body relaxing more with each rotation, her limbs sinking comfortably against the dirt. She knew these sounds well–the creak of wood, the subtle whirr as the yarn spun–and as she grew drowsy Belle was able to pretend that she was back in the Dark Castle, reading a beloved novel while her own Rumpelstiltskin spun gold. They would both keep silent, absorbed in their own tasks, but there would remain a feeling of companionship, a delicate familiarity that each was hesitant to discuss, yet determined to nurture. It was those moments she loved best, when they each engaged in tasks they’d individually done for years, but it felt like they’d always done them together.

 

As Belle drifted the two worlds began to blur together: the Rumpelstiltskin of her time spinning with the sounds of the present. Gold still ran from his fingers, but he now wore a simple tunic instead of the elaborate vests he’d later favor, and though Belle saw herself still dressed in the Dark Castle’s finery, her untitled novel was replaced by _Mistress Lina’s_ book. There was an ornate table resting on a dirt floor and the hall’s great windows had boards instead of glass. The entire room smelled of the castle’s dust and cucumber medicine.

 

Belle was nearly asleep, falling quite willingly into this fused world when, unexpectedly, the softest murmur interrupted her dream.

 

“G’night, Lady Belle.”

 

Belle had learned early on the importance of names and now it was a name that told her which of the two Rumpelstiltskins had just wished her goodnight. In her mind she knew  they both sought peaceful sleep for her, but only one of them called her “Lady.”

 

Belle had slipped too far into her dream to pull back, but the small part of her that was still conscious silently wished her newfound friend goodnight in turn.

 

Smiling, Belle drifted off to sleep.


	7. The Wheel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Guess who had a flight delayed by freaking rain? And guess who decided to use that boring, exhausting, omg-this-airport-is-a-BLACK-HOLE time to pull this chapter together early? Meeee :D 
> 
> Also, it's time to play 'spot that fandom' again lol. What line did I steal this time?? 
> 
> Enjoy!

Rumpelstiltskin spun to forget.

 

It was easier this way, letting the work consume him until there were no thoughts about war, or poverty— nothing than the threading of yarn and the turn of the wheel. It didn’t hurt that Rumpelstiltskin always faced away from the rest of the room, tucked into the corner, deliberately blocking everything else from sight. He didn’t want to be staring at an empty cooking pot or the shoes that were now painfully small on Bae. Spinning was work, but it was also peace to Rumpelstiltskin; the knowledge that he could still, somehow be useful. He didn’t want any reminders of his pitiful life tainting his time at the wheel so Rumpelstiltskin turned away, ignoring the bare pantry and now, the woman sleeping by his hearth as well.

 

Yet if he were a more honest man, Rumpelstiltskin would admit that his efforts made very little difference. He didn’t need to see her to know she was there.

 

He could feel her.

 

There was the scrape of wool on wool as she turned in dreams, the indistinct, but undeniable presence of another person breathing at his back. Rumpelstiltskin was hyper aware of her presence, like a cool draft that made his skin pucker and the hairs of his arm stand straight. It was an endless temptation to turn and look at her, one he was determined not to give into. If he did, Rumpelstiltskin was sure he would fall at her feet. Without her fierce gaze to embarrass and deter him he would surely kneel, and he wasn’t entirely convinced that he could be swayed to rise again.

 

It was the least that she deserved. Even facing away from her, resolutely looking away, Rumpelstiltskin couldn’t escape the evidence that crept into his peripheral. _Reading._ He could just make out the lettering on the ground, just an inch or so from her booted foot. Rumpelstiltskin hadn’t a clue what the symbols’ names were or what sounds they were meant to produce, but _Bae_ knew, at least a little, and that knowledge brought a grin to his face like nothing else could.

 

He was ashamed to admit that he’d given up on educating his boy years ago; at least in any subject other than spinning. Even before Milah’s abandonment it was clear that neither of them had anything besides their trades to pass on and they hadn’t the coin to pay for an apprenticeship. Their uselessness ate at them, more so with Rumpelstiltskin than Milah. By the time Bae was old enough to learn any skills she’d already cared more for drink and keeping from him. But for Rumpelstiltskin it was just one more proof, that despite his initial promise to do well by Bae, in the end he was an inadequate father charged with raising an extraordinary son. It had been clear early on that Bae was incredibly bright, picking up on numbers and language in a way that Rumpelstiltskin never could. Even when he was just a wee lad he had an endless thirst for knowledge, memorizing the complicated tales that the elders told and teaching himself how to count the beats of music, even though dancing was generally considered a women’s practice.

 

Years before, back when they were able to keep more sheep, Rumpelstiltskin had tasked a five-year old Bae with watching the livestock, making sure that none of them wandered off. Fifteen minutes later he’d returned, shocked to find that the animals had broken apart and an unconcerned Bae was playing in the mud.

 

“You were meant to watch them, Bae! How do you know they’re all there?”

 

Rumpelstiltskin’s tone had been sharper than he’d meant it to be, worrying that his faith in Bae had cost them their summer wares. Even if only one sheep were lost it would mean a significant reduction in the amount of yarn he could produce, and less yarn quite literally meant less food. But he shouldn’t have doubted his son.

 

“Because, Papa,” Bae had replied, barely looking up, “there’s three over there and two there and one by me. That’s six.” He went back to his mud pies, entirely missing his father’s look of shock. Rumpelstiltskin hadn’t told Bae that there were six sheep, only that he should watch the group as a whole. Bae had figured the numbers out on his own. Counting was a simple task for any adult, but Rumpelstiltskin hadn’t learned until the spinsters began teaching him to spin. He simply hadn’t had any need for the skill prior to that and no one taught a drunkard’s boy just _because_.

 

After that, Rumpelstiltskin resigned himself to not only his son’s intelligence, but also his own inability to nurture it. Over the years the most he’d been able to do was encourage Bae to learn from others when he could and focus on _not_ passing on his less desirable qualities— like how to be a coward. Not that his brave Bae could ever be cowardly, even if he had been forced to grow up at his son. That, at least, would always be a blessing.

 

So Rumpelstiltskin had given up, simple as that. He’d given up on Bae’s education and on the hope that he might someday become more than a village spinner. Even that pitiful future now seemed unlikely, with the ogre war raging and the recruitment age dropping each year—

 

With a whimper Rumpelstiltskin snatched his hand back, a bit of missed wood in the yarn having cut into his finger. He popped the digit into his mouth, determined not to think on blood or battlefields. Bae was still young after all. He wouldn’t be called until later. They’d figure out something before then. They had to.

 

But for now…

 

Rumpelstiltskin’s eyes drifted back to the writing. The improvement was noticeable even to his untrained eye, the letters becoming steadier, infused with more confidence with each repetition. It couldn’t compare to the elegant script written in the book they’d propped between two stones, but each sloppy letter filled Rumpelstiltskin with unimaginable pride.

 

For now Bae was learning to _read._

“Lady Belle.”

 

He wasn’t even aware of saying her name until the words were past his lips.

 

Rumpelstiltskin turned quickly, hoping he hadn’t woken her. She was still and thank the gods for that. He had little idea what to say to her in daylight with Bae at his side, he didn’t need her waking in the night, wondering why her pathetic host was staring at her when he should have gone to bed hours before.

 

But Rumpelstiltskin wasn’t tired. Despite his choice to spin tonight and engage in an activity that generally helped him forget, a part of him _wanted_ to remember. He wanted to recall again and again how in a mere twenty-four hours this woman had tipped their lives upside down. She saved his son and as a reward claimed herself their housekeeper, she had taught Bae letters for hours while he slept and then refused a proper rest herself. She was a mess of contradictions that, frankly, didn’t surprise him much anymore. It now seemed natural, that Lady Belle should do more for Bae in a day than he’d managed in years.

 

Rumpelstiltskin fiddled with a bit of yarn, twisting it between his fingers. The thread was a deep chocolate color not unlike Lady Belle’s own hair and he found the comparison soothing. Even in these little things she brought harmony. It wasn’t just Bae of course, Lady Belle had already done a great deal for him too. Rumpelstiltskin couldn’t deny that despite the nervousness she drew from him, she brought out peace as well, much like his wheel. Before yesterday he never would have dared to wile away so many hours, not when there was work to be done and Bae needed his attention, but his body had taken over, deciding to sleep deeply without his consent.  He was now sure that there was more to his impromptu nap than mere exhaustion, like some subconscious part of him knew that Bae was in good hands; that Lady Belle would indeed manage his household while he rested.

 

Rumpelstiltskin snorted, a positively scornful sound. “Household” indeed.

 

Yet if his Lady wished to call it such, then so be it. Rumpelstiltskin would give her whatever he could, even if her strange martyrdom was still… upsetting. People didn’t cater to _him_ ; it was madness. The most Rumpelstiltskin could ever hope for was grudging politeness, or a look not followed by a cuff if he was lucky. Yet for some reason Lady Belle wished to not only help, but also to live as they lived, rejecting all of his offers to serve her. It was… foolishness. Marvelous foolishness.

 

He supposed he’d have to get used to it, as well as he could anyway. After all, Rumpelstiltskin could hardly deny that her selflessness was nothing if not a miraculous boon, for he and Bae had barely enough for the two of them. Any help was appreciated, no matter the source. And Anualt _had_ said to give their Lady _whatever_ she wished. Oddly enough, she seemed to wish that she weren’t a lady.

 

Rumpelstiltskin shook his head. He would bet his meager life and all his coin that Anualt hadn’t had _this_ arrangement in mind when they’d made their deal. He could only hope that she wouldn’t blame him for the extraordinary turn out.

 

He laughed a little as he rose from the chair, his bad knee stiff from sitting so long. Rumpelstiltskin truly didn’t know which would seem a more unlikely occurrence to Anualt: that a high-born lady would willingly assist him, or that he could somehow coerce such a lady into working for the likes of him. Both options were laughable and yet, impossibly, one had come true.

 

“Am I dreaming?” he asked the sleeping figure. Rumpelstiltskin took the time to just lean against his crutch, taking her in. Her curls, crushed from using her arm as a pillow, the smear of dirt along her neck… she was still gorgeous. “It won’t much matter soon,” he whispered. “You want to see the market, M’lady? Then you shall, and you’ll also get to see exactly what this village thinks of your host.” His lips twisted into a grimace, imagining the scene they’d encounter tomorrow. There was little doubt in Rumpelstiltskin’s mind of what Lady Belle would think of him come next sundown.

 

“Would you mind terribly if I looked upon you, just for tonight?” he asked. “No doubt you’ll be gone by the morrow, once you understand what you’ve been living with. Ladies don’t settle in with beggars and cowards. Perhaps then… just for a while? I give my word not to disturb you, M’lday.”

 

Lady Belle sighed and slept.

 

So Rumpelstiltskin sat back in the chair he’d just vacated, never taking his eyes from her form. The guilt of watching her was still there, but he pushed it aside with the knowledge that this might well be one of the last times he saw her. They would clear the snow tomorrow, go to market, and his Lady would leave. If he were lucky, she’d move in with another of the village’s women and he’d get to see her in passing. If he were blessed, she’d have the kindness not to jeer at him openly.

 

However, even if it all came to pass, she’d still eventually head home. Rumpelstiltskin didn’t know where that was, but it was no doubt a place of great beauty and splendor, fitting for a woman such as her. Floorboards and large poster beds, windows with glass and doors that kept out the chill, a place where the likes of him didn’t belong. Lady Belle would leave and she would be happy.

 

“Just for tonight then,” he whispered, resting his head on the back of the chair. “You’ve been so kind, M’lady. So unbelievably kind to an old coward. Surely you wouldn’t begrudge me this one last gift?”

 

Lady Belle didn’t wake – didn’t rise and scream at him– so Rumpelstiltskin took her silence as an answer. He settled in, smiling softly at the fairy beside him.

 

***

 

Rumpelstiltskin woke to beauty.

 

Hair now piled in a messy bun, a dress freshly brushed, lips red with cold, and cheeks naturally rouged…

 

“You’re all about the odd sleeping habits, aren’t you?” she said. Lady Belle—for he remembered now that the fairy had a name—bit her lip, looking concerned. He wanted to wipe the sad expression from her face, even more so when he realized that it was directed at him.

 

“Did you sleep here all night?” she asked, unconsciously running her hands over his shoulders. Rumpelstiltskin jumped, then shivered, leaning into the touch. His fingers were warmer than he would have expected, given the chill in the air, and they were just light enough that his body begged for something harder, more tangible. No one ever touched him but Bae, or the neighbors who occasionally bestowed a kick or a slap.

 

Lady Belle’s eyes narrowed and for a moment he feared that he’d been caught: that she’d realized he’d watched her all night, or, perhaps worse, that she’d noticed the pleasure he took from her touch. But instead of sneering in repulsion at either sin Lady Belle leaned forward, gripping his forearms harder.

 

“You didn’t sleep here because I wouldn’t take the bed, did you?” she asked, voice firm.

 

“No, M’lady.” Rumpelstiltskin forced himself to pull away while he could, groaning at the loss of contact. He groan morphed into a deeper whimper when his back and knee protested the sudden movement. “I—I was only spinning before I slept. I must have lost track of the time. Only that, I swear it.” He blushed furiously, praying that she wouldn’t notice the yarn packed away in his basket or the fact that he’d turned his chair to face her rather than his wheel.

 

“Oh.” Lady Belle straightened. “Well, make sure it doesn’t happen again, yes? It’s not good to be sleeping in chairs.” He nodded hurriedly. “Besides,” her mouth twisted. “One of us losing track of Time is bad enough.”

 

“M’lady?”

 

“Never-mind. And it’s _Belle_.” She was already turning away, fetching his crutch from the floor where it had fallen during the night. He took it gratefully, sighing when her fingers brushed against his. She wasn’t mad then; hadn’t even realized his offences. Rumpelstiltskin knew he was only delaying the inevitable, but he couldn’t bear for her to look on him with scorn just yet. That would occur soon enough without him hurrying the process along. 

 

“Breakfast?” She asked.

 

Lady Belle was smiling at him. Rumpelstiltskin vowed that he would have little need of food, so long as he was given this every morning instead.

 

“I could fix you something.” She continued, forgiving of his silence. “Bae is already—”

 

_Crack!_

They both jumped. Whipping towards the table Rumpelstiltskin found Bae holding the rest of the bread, but the knife that he was _supposed_ to be holding was instead skittering away. His boy winced, diving for the tool.

 

“Morning, Papa,” he muttered. “The, uh, bread is a little tough today.”

 

Lady Belle snorted and Rumpelstiltskin jumped nearly as high at that sound as he had at the knife’s escape.

 

She seemed amused enough, but Rumpelstiltskin he could already feel his hands beginning to tremble again, ashamed at what Bae had to scrounge together for their meal. “I’m sorry,” he found himself saying, edging a little closer to her. “Truly. I wish that we has something better to offer you—”

 

“Don’t.” Lady Belle held up her hand, her voice surprisingly soft. “Please. We’ll make due.” She left him then for Bae’s side, allowing him to gather up the words she’d given like they were precious gems.

 

_We’ll._ Not ‘I’ or ‘me’ or even ‘you.’ Despite everything, Rumpelstiltskin liked the sound of ‘We’ll.’ Her words made it sound like she belonged in their little hut and even though he realized how ridiculous that fantasy was, he clutched at it. He could pretend, couldn’t he? That maybe she’d stay a little while long, even after being introduced to the town? That perhaps she’d consider it too much of a hassle to find new lodgings? Just for one more day…

 

“Come on, Rumpelstiltskin. There’s a lot that needs doing!”

 

“As you wish,” he said, his own words a pale promise compared to her stunning implications. ‘As you wish’ Rumpelstiltskin said, though what he really meant was ‘ _anything._ ’

 

They ate the bread, the last of the food that wasn’t canned or salted. It was even worse than he’d imagined and Rumpelstiltskin cringed every time Lady Belle went for a bite, fearing that she would break her pretty teeth. She’d proved resourceful though, fetching them all cups of water to dip the bread in. It took a while for the dough to soften enough to eat and it tasted mighty terrible, but at least it went down.

 

“So,” she said, nibbling at her bread like she was attending high tea. Rumpelstiltskin saw Bae trying to copy her delicate movements. “Snow?”

 

He nodded. In this at least he knew what he was doing.

 

“We… have no shovels, Lady Belle. We’ve pails though. The best thing for it is to bring it in and toss it out the window.” Rumpelstiltskin pointed to the shuttered wood. “We only need to clear it from the door.”

 

“We’ll melt it too.” Bae held up a candle, left on the table from their meal the night before. “Morraine’s family deals in wax and her Mama gives us these in return for some of Papa’s yarn. We can spare one for the snow, right Papa?”

 

Rumpelstiltskin chucked his son’s chin, encouraging a laugh. “Yes, m’boy. I spun more than enough last night for an extra candle.” It was a bit of an exaggeration. He’d spent most of the time looking at _her_ , but he had managed a bit of work _._ Shyly, Rumpelstiltskin turned his gaze back to the object of his thoughts. “We deal more in trade than coin, Lady Belle, and we do our best with what’s given.”

 

“I see,” and she seemed to, for when their meager breakfast was through Rumpelstiltskin was amazed at the energy with which she tackled their chore. Lady Belle’s story had seemed impossible the night before— that a woman of her station would have worked as anyone’s housekeeper—but it quickly became clear that she was indeed used to hard labor. Even Bae noted it, sneaking up to him while their guest fetched pails from the back.

 

“She’s a little strange, isn’t she, Papa?”

 

“ _Bae!_ ” The gods help him if she overheard his boy saying that. He truly would die of shame. “You should be more grateful,” he insisted.

 

“I am!” Bae did seem shocked at the suggestion that he was less than thankful for all that Lady Belle had done. “I like her, Papa. A lot. She’s just—” a soft growl came from the back room; what sounded like a pail hitting a woman’s head. “—different. But different can be good!”

 

After the clatter came another cry from the back room, this one of triumph. Lady Belle skipped in, two pails swinging from her arms and a red bump marring her forehead. She stuck her tongue at the offending bucket on her way past.

 

Rumpelstiltskin sighed, putting a hand to his own son’s head. The mess of curls was warm beneath his fingers.

 

“Aye, Bae. I can’t argue with you there.”

 

***

 

Removing the snow was long, arduous work, just as he’d known it would be. When they first opened the door a whole mound of the stuff came through, blanketing their already cold hut. They’d dressed in their warmest clothes, Rumpelstiltskin insisting that she take his extra cloak that she’d been sleeping with, but even with the additional layers all three were thoroughly chilled within moments. Bae set to work taking one bucketful of snow at a time over to the wall, standing on one of the kitchen chairs and tossing it out the window. Rumpelstiltskin sat and focused on having the next pail full by the time Bae returned—he could do little else with his knee—while Lady Belle, unmindful of soaking her dress, squeezed through the door to start clearing from the sides. She knelt on top of the mound, scooping with her hands to create a path that she could step down into.

 

They had been working a good ten minutes before Rumpelstiltskin looked up and realized how red her hands had become. Her bandages were sopping wet.

 

“Lady Belle—” he didn’t need to say anything more, his anguished tone was enough.

 

“Oh.” She startled, like she hadn’t realized that her hands were even there. Given how numb they must be, perhaps she hadn’t. “It’s alright,” but she rubbed them vigorously against her thighs.

 

“No, please…” Rumpelstiltskin forced himself up, mindful of the snow around him. Tucked into his basket was an old pair of Milah’s gloves, always too small for him and now a year too small for Bae. They were so frayed that the loss hardly mattered and he’d had every intention of salvaging what little yarn he could, having absolutely no desire to keep them as a useless reminder—but now…

 

“Here,” he handed Lady Belle the gloves, ridiculously pleased when she cooed at the gift. Wanting to keep that smile Rumpelstiltskin impulsively grabbed his cup off the table, handing that over as well. “And here, use this. Your hands are still healing.”

 

“Thank you, Rumple. Oh…” A strange expression crossed Lady Belle’s face, longing and… guilt? She was staring at the cup.

 

“Lady Belle?”

 

“Do you mind terribly?” she asked, hands fluttering. “‘That is… ‘Rumpelstiltskin’ can be quite the mouthful, but if you can believe it, I already have a friend back home that I sometimes call Rumple.” Lady Belle laughed shakily and Rumpelstiltskin gawked. What could _she_ possibly be nervous about? It was a strange coincidence certainly, but nothing that deserved such tension…

 

“How about just ‘Rum’?” As quickly as it had come Rumpelstiltskin watched the tension drain out of her. Lady Belle nodded at her solution, looking so hopeful. She was a dark beauty against the snow and Rumpelstiltskin found himself nodding without thought.

 

“You may call me anything you wish.” He didn’t add that ‘Coward’ and ‘servant’ would have worked just as well, coming from her lips.

 

Rumpelstiltskin was so absorbed by this strange conversation that he didn’t notice one of her hands sneaking forward until it was clasping his. One moment it was pressed against his own thigh seeking warmth, the next it was between Lady Belle’s hands, even colder now, but that was hardly worth considering. Rumpelstiltskin strangled out a gasp before he could stop himself and concentrated on not pulling away, or worse: tugging her closer. Looking down he found Milah’s gray wool fitted against his palm and he would swear before all gods and men that it had never felt this soft before. Rumpelstiltskin flexed his fingers, half fearful that her touch would dissipate like mist.

 

“Wonderful,” Lady Belle said, moving away.

 

“Yes,” he croaked. “Wonderful.”

 

His lady skipped back outside and began scooping with his cup, looking for all the world contented with clearing snow after holding the hands of a timid spinner. In a daze, Rumpelstiltskin went back to filling pails. It was a miracle that he got as much done as he did, given the distracting tingle coursing through him. If that was what it felt like to touch her through wool, he couldn’t imagine what her skin would be like, brushing unobstructed against his own. Soft and warm, yet tough too; the strange combination of palms smooth from a noble upbringing and fingers calloused through labor—uniquely Lady Belle. It would be divine——

 

\--and utterly appalling. Rumpelstiltskin nearly cursed allowed at his traitorous thoughts. Determined to quiet his mind he threw himself into the work, bringing Bae pail after pail with a self-deprecating resolve that had his knee throbbing wickedly.

 

In truth though, Bae and Lady Belle still did most of the work, devoting so much energy to the task that they had a small space cleared around their door by the time the winter sun was at its highest. They were then able to make use of the candle, softening the layers of ice that they weren’t otherwise able to break.

 

“Careful, Belle.” Bae chirped, smiling as she held the little flame to a block nestled near the side of their hut. “We wouldn’t want to start a fire.”

 

“Oh ha ha. What a regular joker you are.”

 

Rumpelstiltskin didn’t think it was funny.

 

They were nearly ready to take a break when he saw Lady Belle’s pretty lips forming an ‘o’ and she thrust the candle into his hands. Unmindful of their confusion she trotted back inside, only to re-emerge a second later with the blanket that acted as her bed. Before Rumpelstiltskin could protest she laid it on the ground they’d cleared, effectively soaking up the excess water.

 

“It’ll just freeze otherwise,” she said with a pointed look at his crutch.

 

“Of course. T—thank you.” His meager thanks must have sufficed because she smiled at him again. Maybe it was that look, combined with the lingering feeling of her hand in his, that gave him the unexpected courage to say, “If it’s not dry before tonight you could—could…”

 

Could what? He stopped to actually think about his ridiculous offer. Lady Belle could do what, exactly? Share a bed with Bae? With _him_? Rumpelstiltskin felt hot shame staining him and he unconsciously clenched the hand she’d taken earlier. _Gods._

“I—that is, what I meant was—”

 

“I’m sure it will dry,” Lady Belle interrupted, saving him. She ducked down to brush a bit of snow from Bae’s collar. Whether it was an act deliberately meant to help him or not, Rumpelstiltskin was grateful. He took the time to calm down, as much as he was able.

 

When he was breathing again Lady Belle looked up. “Now,” she said. “I believe we’ve more than earned a rest, don’t you think?”

 

Absolutely.

 

Bae especially looked done in. He listed slightly between them and Rumpelstiltskin was just about to urge him back inside when a spot of color caught his eye, stark against the snow. He turned. Peering a ways into the distance Rumpelstiltskin could just make out another figure, their own cloak a dark green that looked almost black.

 

“Who’s that?”

 

Rumpelstiltskin jumped, not having realized that Lady Belle had come so close. She stood with her arms wrapped around her and was edging even closer to his good side, almost stepping on his boots. Rumpelstiltskin resisted the urge to pull her flush against him, firmly telling himself that it was just her body unconsciously seeking warmth, nothing more.

 

“That’s Knott,” Bae answered. _He_ had no qualms about touching Lady Belle and eagerly pulled at her skirts, pointing. “The village smith.”

 

“Of course.” Lady Belle smiled and he couldn’t imagine what she had to be pleased about until she said, “He was there. The fire.”

 

“He was?” Bae’s eyes went wide. No wonder, he’d been put to sleep from the smoke well before Lady Belle had dragged him from the barn. He hadn’t a clue how many had turned up to fight the blaze.

 

Or how many had refused to go in after him.

 

“He was.” Lady Belle agreed. “I met his son as well. Ah…”

 

“Dai,” Rumpelstiltskin murmured.

 

“Yes. That was it.” Leaning even closer Lady Belle dropped her voice for his ears only. At the touch of her hair on his shoulder Rumpelstiltskin flinched, but he held his ground.

 

“Is he a friend of yours?” she whispered. “Knott? I only ask because…” Lady Belle bit her lip, worrying the cracked skin. “Well, because I think he may have gone after him.” Her gaze dropped meaningfully to Bae, still engaged in watching Knott’s figure. “He still refused like the others, but he was more… sympathetic? I’m not sure, but I think if I hadn’t offered he might have been persuaded to go.”

 

Rumpelstiltskin was tempted to both laugh and weep at her optimism. He settled on a wet chuckle.

 

“He wouldn’t have gone,” he said shortly, unsurprised when Lady Belle drew back in shock. “Knott is not… unkind.” If kindness was now defined as merely growling at the cripple, rather than knocking him down. “But he is no friend of mine. I have no friends, M’lady.”

 

Rumpelstiltskin was well aware of his distasteful bluntness and how pathetic it made him seem… no, _showed_ him to be. But best that Lady Belle began to get an inkling of now, before she met the rest of the village and learned of his cowardice. Perhaps, if she were prepared, the blow would not be quite so terrible…

 

Lost in his own thoughts, Rumpelstiltskin nearly missed Lady Belle’s next words.

 

“You have me,” she whispered. When his head whipped up in disbelief she shrugged, like he should have figured that out by now. “ _I’m_ your friend.”

 

Rumpelstiltskin stood, mouth open in a parody of having something to say.

 

She couldn’t mean that.

 

“G’morning, Knott!” They were interrupted by Bae’s cry, carrying far across the flatland. The distant figure stilled halfway through its own shoveling, but no response came. With grim determination Bae raised his hand in an exuberant, impossible-to-miss wave.

 

The figure turned away.

 

‘Do you see?’ Rumpelstiltskin wanted to say—scream it, cry it, admit it brokenly at her feet.

 

Instead he only said, “Come” and took Bae’s arm, leading him away. This wasn’t the first time he had tried and failed to engage with their neighbors. Each of them turned away from the son just as they did the father. “C’mon, Bae. It’s time for a break.”

 

Rumpelstiltskin turned and found Lady Belle still standing in the snow. She was immobile, her limbs frozen in action—like a goddess carved from ice. Or perhaps a warrior was a more apt comparison, given the fierce glint in her eyes and the set of her jaw.

 

“Lady Belle?”

 

She jerked at the sound of her name and nodded a bit reluctantly. Lady Belle did come back with him, but she looked over he shoulder the whole way inside.

 

***

 

Back in the safety of his hut, Rumpelstiltskin was able to breathe a little easier. Lady Belle immediately set to rekindling the fire, trying to drive out the chill that hed permeated the hut as well as the cold mood Knott had produced. Rumpelstiltskin fetched some of the salted meat he’d put aside for the winter months. He handed her a strip, careful that their fingers didn’t brush.

 

“You need more in you than bread, Lady Belle,” he murmured.

 

It took her a moment, but she did smile. Humming in agreement she took the meat between her teeth, craning her head to look past him. “Bae?” she called, the words muffled funnily. “Perhaps you’d care for that story while we eat?”

 

_That_ caught his attention and Rumpelstiltskin couldn’t help but stand amazed as the melancholy dropped from his son’s shoulders as quickly as it had come.

 

“Really?” he cried, skidding to sit beside her. Normally it would have taken Rumpelstiltskin a good day to cheer Bae when others slighted him, but Lady Belle managed it with the simple promise of a story.

 

“Well why not?” she said. “Unless you’d prefer to wait until tonight?”

 

Bae shook his head violently, black curls flying.

 

“Okay then, Rumpelstiltskin?” Lady Belle clapped and pointed to the nearest chair. He hesitated, suddenly feeling like he was intruding.

 

“I—there’s a great deal of work—” but one pleading look from Bae had him collapsing. At the very least his knee did need a rest. Bae’s attention didn’t remain on him long though.

 

“Do you know any stories about dragons? Or pirates?” he begged. Lady Belle let out a tinkling laugh.

 

“I’m afraid I haven’t had the privilege of meeting a pirate and the one dragon I’ve met wasn’t that exciting.”

 

Rumpelstiltskin felt his jaw drop in time with Bae’s.

 

“You’re jesting!” he cried. “… Aren’t you?”

 

“Not at all. My employer…” Lady Belle tilted her head, looking unsure of what to say. “Well, he _is_ a kind man, but he’s also very powerful. He needed dragon scales for a… project… and he let me to tag along. Apparently he and the dragon knew one another because he just allowed my employer to gather the scales he’d already shed. It was _amazing_ of course,” she grinned at Bae, “at first, but after a while it got pretty boring. The dragon went to sleep and I ended up picking through the mud for six hours, looking for little bits of scales.” She shrugged.

 

“Who exactly did you say your employer was?” Rumpelstiltskin couldn’t help asking, his voice a papery whisper. Right on the heels of that question was, ‘and how in seven hells did you end up _here_?’ but Lady Belle was already shaking her head. She looked sad and he regretted that he’d said anything at all.

 

“He wouldn’t like me giving his name. He’s a very private man. I do miss him,” she admitted and Rumpelstiltskin felt a pang.

 

“But you’ll get back to him,” Bae said, thrumming with nothing but confidence.

 

“Yes I will, when the time is right. Now though,” she smoothed her skirts and scooped up more of the meat, passing them each a strip, “is a time for stories.”

 

“Yes!”

 

“My tale doesn’t have dragons,” Lady Belle warned, holding up a finger. “Nor pirates. But there is a castle and danger and just a little bit of magic.”

 

Bae’s eyes were saucers and Rumpelstiltskin found himself leaning forward as well, drawn in by her voice.

 

“ _Once upon a time_ —”

 

“What?” The spell was broken a moment, Bae scrunching his face at the odd phrase.

 

“It’s how all the best stories begin,” Lady Belle explained. “Now, are you going to interrupt me again?”

 

Bae quickly shook his head, as did Rumpelstiltskin. He had no breath to speak with anyway.

 

“Good. _Once upon a time, two people lived in a castle together: a man and a woman._

_Their castle was larger than any city, filled with more treasure than could be found in all the realms. You could spend days exploring just one room and if you didn’t scatter little hints as you went—fresh flowers springing from vases, bows tied to staircase banisters—you could easily become lost. Legend has it that a robber once snuck deep into the castle’s depths, intent on stealing the wealth there. He never came out._

_Yet despite the distance the castle offered, the man and the woman rarely left one another’s side. They kept to the first floor of the castle, moving among the great hall where there would be tea and cakes, the parlor where the man conducted business, and, of course, the comfortable seat by the fire._

_For the woman dearly loved to read._

_She would have been contented to fill the rest of her days with books and conversation but the man came to her, asking if she’d like to learn a new skill. For you see, he was a man of many talents, none of which were more renowned than his ability to spin dull, commoner’s straw into gold. This is what he wished to teach her._

_“Why, whatever use would I have for spinning straw into gold?” she asked, laughing a little. “You’ve already done enough of that for both of us. Our cellars are full of gold, our blankets are woven from it, gold lines our sheets and hangs as tassels from our drapes. Surely we have enough? Besides, I have no need of magic.”_

_But the man was adamant, saying only that it would please him if she learned. So the woman agreed. Just to please him._

 

_That night they entered the great hall together, but instead of seating herself at the fire with a book, the woman approached the man’s spinning wheel. It was of simple craftsmanship, but gorgeous in its own right, with nicks that spoke of time passing and wood worn well from use. The woman sat down tentatively, hardly daring to touch it._

_“Here now, dearie,” the man said, taking her hands. “You must learn the basics first.”_

_So she did. That first night the man taught the woman important things, like how to spin the wheel rhythmically and how to evenly distribute the fiber. By the time the sun rose she was yawning greatly, her fingers dancing happily over a spool of wool thread._

_“Well done, dearie,” the man cooed. “You must rest now, but you’ll learn more tomorrow.”_

_The woman did learn more. The next night and for five nights after that she sat in the man’s place, manipulating the wheel until it produced beautiful, vibrantly colored yarns. The woman had quite the collection by the time the sixth night rolled around. She held up her work triumphantly._

_“It seems I have a great deal of knitting to do now,” she said. “Perhaps you’d like a scarf? Or twelve?”_

_The man giggled, clapping his hands joyfully. “Later, dearie, later. Tonight we spin gold!”_

_“But why?” the woman couldn’t help but ask. “I told you, I have no need of it and you’ve already shown me magic.” She gestured to the wheel; to the yarns she’d spun of fibers originally dull and dirty._

_“Ah, ah, ah,” the man wagged a finger under the woman’s nose, tweaking it. “Gold.”_

_Leaving her little choice he joined her at the wheel, his chest to her back. Taking the woman’s hands he encouraged her to spin, all the while whispering in her ear._

_“Now, dearie,” he said. “Magic is a fickle mistress. She demands all of you or nothing. Not just here,” giggling he tapped at the curls on her head, making her giggle too. “But here as well,” the other hand went to her heart. He quickly pulled back though, twirling his fingers excitedly. “Magic is faith and confidence and your deepest emotion. You have to_ want _it to change.”_

_“But I don’t. Not particularly.” The woman laughed at his scowl. “Well, perhaps I could be persuaded to want to, if it makes you happy.”_

_“Humph. You’d show more respect, dearie, if you knew that I’d only taught this to one other.”_

_That did still the woman’s hands. She and the man hadn’t known each other long, but she knew, as all women do, when a man cared for her. This man did, even if he wouldn’t always admit it, and his lessons now only proved her instincts correct. The woman wanted to learn now._

_“So what do I do?”_

_“Weeeeell,” the man drew closer to the woman, one hand tucking a curl behind her ear. “You’re different, dearie. The other one… oh, she was a wicked thing. Nothing but blackness in her heart. She spun gold out of hatred.” His hand left her hair, skittering towards the twine she spun. At his touch it morphed into gold before the woman’s eyes._

_“Is that how you spin?” she whispered._

_He hesitated, then ignored the question._

_“You’re different, dearie,” he repeated. “You won’t be spinning with loathing, but you’ll need something equally strong.”_

_“Like what?”_

_“_ I _don’t know! Best figure that out, yes?” and with a laugh he skipped away, leaving her to her task._

_The woman spun for many days after, but nothing came of it. She spun wool and cotton and so much straw that the smell seeped permanently into her clothes. She filled her mind with memories, everything from her future hopes down to her childhood’s darkest fears. All of the thoughts felt powerful to her—strong—but no gold ever fell from her hands. Eventually, on a day filled with sunshine, she stopped the wheel. The man was taking tea at the table beside her and when she stood he frowned._

_“Giving up already?” he asked._

_“No.” If anything, the woman had determination. “But I find that I grow frustrated and it’s too fine a day to sit inside.” She shrugged, smiling a sad little smile. “You may have been wrong though. Perhaps I haven’t the ‘golden touch’ at all.”_

_“Oh, I doubt that,” the man whispered the words against his teacup, so soft she almost missed them. Standing, he turned his hand over and there, from a cloud of purple smoke came a spindle. It was a beautiful bit of craftsmanship, the edgings of the wood carved with delicate roses. The man held it out to her, insistent._

_“Keep it on you, dearie,” he said. “Practice! Nothing would please me more than to see you spin gold.”_

_So the woman took this gift, finding herself once again eager to please. She spun out in the garden and by the castle’s large windows, delighting in how the light fractured against her work. It sparkled enough that she could almost pretend it was gold._

_Despite the continuance of these lessons the lives of the man and the woman changed very little. They still took their meals together, the woman still read, the man still crafted fantastic magic up high in his tower. And every day the woman would pull out her spindle or seat herself at the wheel, generally when she’d recalled another fond remembrance that might serve as a catalyst, but the straw always remained straw. Still, she did not let this failure bother her, for she was a woman of many other talents._

_Their lives continued and the woman did not think on her lessons much, not until the day she was taken._

_There is little entertainment in that tale, for it reads as so many others do: the man was powerful with many enemies; the woman was a beautiful weakness. At least, fools perceived her as such. Which is why when the man went on business and left her alone in the castle, a cruel king took the opportunity to snatch what he deemed was most precious to his foe: her._

_The woman awoke, cold and hungry in a tower that was not unlike the man’s workroom, only this space had little other than stones and a barred door. She attempted to escape, of course, but it was of little use. There were no windows and the door would not yield to her. In desperation she spoke the man’s name, having heard that calling him thrice would summon him._

_He did not come._

_Eventually, when the room grew cold enough that she knew night had fallen, the king came for her. A large man with a tiny conscience, he informed the woman that her companion had once cheated him in his youth. He had traded what was then most valuable to him, a daughter, newly born to a queen who had passed during the birth, and exchange he was given “riches enough for the whole kingdom.” Only it hadn’t been enough. Besotted with his wealth the king spent it recklessly and now, in his declining years, his kingdom was on the brink of ruin. Everyone from the lowliest peasant to the king himself now starved._

_“It does not sound like a cheat to me,” the woman said, sitting primly. She refused to stand before such a creature. “It sounds more like foolishness.”_

_The king wanted to hear none of it. He stripped the gown from her back, claiming that any wealth was his now, and viciously he pulled the drops from her ears. The woman bore it all, holding her hands firmly against her stomach, refusing to indulge them. As she was shamed the king spoke, saying that he would hold her, keep her, until her companion complied with his demands and gave him the gold he had promised._

_“He will give you nothing,” the woman said. “You are the fool who squandered your deal and my friend is not in the habit of being charitable towards those who demand more than they’ve earned.” She leveled him with a fierce stare. “Nor is he kind towards those who harm his loved ones.”_

_The king laughed, a high mocking sound. “I see. Well, if he loves you then surely he’ll come for you. Gold is nothing compared with True Love!” and the king left, locking the door behind him._

_The woman, even colder now without her gown, nevertheless stilled the chattering of her teeth and leveled the tremble in her voice. Once more she called the man— his name once, twice… thrice._

_He did not show. She was alone._

_However, that was not to say that she was hopeless. Carefully, the woman pulled her hands away, revealing the small spindle she’d hidden between the folds of her shift. She still had this piece of him…_

_… and the floor of her dungeon was covered in a remarkable amount of straw._

_The woman got to work. She did not rush, taking the time to gather the straw together and clean it first. When that was done she closed her eyes, having little need to look at her work after so much time spent in practice. The woman wove— carefully, lovingly._

_This time, she knew something was different. The woman didn’t think of her delightful childhood, nor of her dreams of the future. They were strong feelings, yes, but they had never been strong enough. Instead the woman thought only of him— of the man waiting for her back in the castle. Behind her eyes she saw them taking tea together, her with the kettle, him with a tiny, chipped cup. They toasted one another but didn’t speak, each just enjoying the simple pleasure of the other. There were biscuits and jam, white bread sandwiches and chocolates with hints of raspberry. Looking down at the sweets, the woman knew he had traveled to a far land to retrieve them; because he knew she favored them so._

_Back in the dungeon, the woman spun and smiled. She spun throughout the night and never once opened her eyes, unaware that her cage was now dark and somewhat frightful. She was in a garden with the man. They walked, not touching, but every few steps he’d look to his right, as if assuring himself that she was still there. She in turn plucked scented flowers, holding them up to his nose._

_The woman thought of reading together and of the foreign languages he’d spoken, just to amuse her. She thought back to the fights and the scares and the times when he could be cruel— but she never once thought of leaving. The woman even remembered her lessons; the feel of his chest pressed against her back._

_She knew it was morning from the faintest sound of birds came from outside, sneaking in through cracks in the stone.  Only then did the woman open her eyes._

_She was surrounded by gold._

_“Well done, dearie.”_

_Her man stood before her, dressed in his finest and giggling wildly. “I said you could do it! Didn’t I? Didn’t I?”_

_The woman smiled. Seated as she was amidst a mound of gold, her smile sparkled like the sun itself. “You did indeed,” she said._

_“Mighty useful, being able to pay your own ransom. Why don’t we just leave this here, yes?” He gestured to the gold, a tad distastefully. “Let the foolish king have it. I’ve come to claim something… far more precious.”_

_The man purred the words, holding out a hand to his lady, and she, with all her love, took it._

Lady Belle’s voice drifted off into silence. Rumpelstiltskin was glad of it. He sat, eyes starring at nothing, reveling in the quiet of their hut. It seemed sinful to speak now. Any sound would be sinful after the melody of her voice.

 

Eventually though, their frames uncoiled and they breathed more deeply. Bae had his head pressed nearly to the dirt, peeking up at the woman beside him.

 

“Wow,” he whispered.

 

Lady Belle laughed, further breaking the spell she’d cast. Rumpelstiltskin jumped when pain suddenly shot through his leg. He’d been so caught in the tale that he hadn’t even noticed his knee, the old injury screaming at the weight he’d put on it in an effort to get closer, lest he miss a single detail.

 

“‘Wow’ indeed.” She said. “I take it you liked it then?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“You’re sure?”

 

“Oh, yes!” That little bit of teasing was all he needed. Rumpelstiltskin watched—half proud, half embarrassed—as Bae practically leapt onto Lady Belle, a thousand questions spilling from his lips: about the characters,—were they real? Did she know them?—the magic,—could anyone actually spin straw into gold?— whether or not they could go on their own adventure to find a castle as large as a kingdom, and of course, how _wonderful_ it was that she’d chosen a story about a spinner.

 

That, obviously, was utter nonsense. No one chose to be a lowly spinner, certainly not anyone with that kind of magic and power. It was absurd, and yet… spinning straw into gold… wouldn’t that be something? Against his better judgment Rumpelstiltskin found himself leaning forward again, just as eager to hear the answers as Bae. His son’s questions could spawn a hundred more nonsense stories and Rumpelstiltskin would happily sit there for the rest of his life listening to Lady Belle tell them, knee or no knee.

 

Rumpelstiltskin felt a brief, hopeless smile catch his lips when he realized that he didn’t even need the stories. He’d sit forever just listening to Lady Belle speak, happy only to hear her voice.

 

A voice that, sadly, said there would be no more stories, at least not right now.

 

Lady Belle huffed a laugh, drawing a comforting hand over Bae’s cheek when he pouted. “We’ve haven’t time,” she said. “I thought that we were going to market this afternoon?”

 

It was like have bucket of snow tossed right over his head, or that time as a boy when he’d fallen into the creek during winter. Rumpelstiltskin shivered violently, drawing away. He snatched up his crutch and planted it between his knees—a barrier between him and her.

 

The market. Of course. How could he have forgotten? Lady Belle was quite happy to entertain them now, with kind words and fantastic tales, but that would no doubt change when she met the rest of the village. They’d taunt him, hurt him, pull out the worst of him and lay it bare for Lady Belle to see. It was one thing to play at a man worthy of her respect when he had some food to offer her and Bae was around to regale her with smiles, but with the storm passed she’d have the option of staying with another family; an option she’d have no choice but to take. Even if Lady Belle did scrounged up some pity for him she’d still leave, if only to better her relationship with the rest of the village. They’d never taunt her as they did him, but they would judge her and that was nearly as bad.

 

Rumpelstiltskin twisted the crutch between his fingers. He had Bae, safe and sound. A fairy had slept two nights by his fire. His boy had learned some letters and they’d both been given a story— far better than the ones Anualt told at village celebrations. Rumpelstiltskin knew he was lucky. Better men than him had received far less.

 

And maybe, just maybe, Lady Belle would continue to teach Bae to read, even if only a little. He had nothing to offer her in exchange, but she did seem to like him. Who wouldn’t? Bae was the brightest star their village had to offer, even if the others couldn’t see past his lineage.

 

Yes, Rumpelstiltskin was far luckier than he deserved.

 

However, it didn’t feel that way when Lady Belle caught his gaze, a slightly wicked grin twisting her lips.

 

“I believe we had a deal,” she said. Rumpelstiltskin shook his head, not understanding. “Your promise? I agreed to give Bae a story and in exchange you and I have a little… chat before market.”

 

Ah. That.

 

“Lady Belle, I’m not sure what—”

 

“Bae, why don’t you go finish clearing the snow. Make sure the area in front isn’t icing over. Do you have any salt? No? We’ll have to pick some up today.” Rumpelstiltskin winced. Salt was expensive. “Go on now, I want to speak with your Papa privately.”

 

Bae went, giving him a wide-eyed look as he passed. Rumpelstiltskin felt that a similar expression must be adorning his own face. It didn’t help when Lady Belle gestured him to his feet, looking far too mischievous for his liking.

 

Of all the things he expected her to do, he did _not_ expect her to sit at his wheel.

 

“C’mon,” Lady Belle said. “I want to talk about magic.”

 


	8. The Gold

“Magic?”

 

Belle nodded, settling herself more comfortably at the wheel. She waited patiently as Rumpelstiltskin dragged the other stool over and sat at a respectful distance. It didn’t seem to matter that she had boldly claimed his property, the source of his livelihood and thus the most precious thing in this house next to Bae. Belle looked closely, but she could find no anger in Rumpelstiltskin’s frame, only hesitancy and a residual lethargy that her story had caused. Either he was still trusting enough in people that he’d allow guests to sit at his wheel, or else he trusted _her._ Either option had Belle smiling.

 

“Yes, magic. I’m going to take a wild guess here and say that Bae wasn’t the only one who enjoyed my story.”

 

“Indeed not.” Rumpelstiltskin bowed his head, seeming quite sincere.

 

“I’m glad. Have you given any thought as to whether it’s true or not?”

 

The incredulous look he gave her was easily the most honest expression he’d shown her thus far— probably the bravest too. Rumpelstiltskin’s disbelief rolled off him in waves, even more so than when she’d told him she was a housekeeper, and Belle was greatly relieved to see him scoffing at her playfully. The tilt of his head and the quirk of his lips were painfully familiar gestures.

 

“You’re teasing me again, Lady Belle.” He insisted.

 

“I am not! And what do you mean ‘again’? I didn’t tease you about being a maid, or do you still think I’m lying about that?”

 

Rumpelstiltskin just shook his head, highly skeptical.

 

“Well I’ll admit that I pulled a few stories together, but they’re all true. I swear it! Surely you believe in magic?”

 

“Of course, Lady Belle. Everyone knows of magical beings like the fairies. I thought you were a nymph at first.”

 

It was immediately clear to her that he hadn’t meant to speak those words. Belle watched, amazed, as Rumpelstiltskin’s skin, made white by the cold was overtaken by a deep blush. His eyes went wide and he stuffed a fist against his mouth, but a mortified squeak still escaped.

 

Acting on instinct Belle snatched that hand, determined that he not lose the confidence he’d found with her. His fingers trembled beneath hers and she gave them a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

 

“It’s okay,” Belle said, edging closer. “Truly. If anything, I’m flattered.”

 

Rumpelstiltskin laughed, but there was nothing happy in the sound.

 

“You need not lie for my sake, Lady Belle,” he said. “I am a fool and no woman wants a man such as myself judging her beauty, let alone… appreciating it.” His blush deepened.

 

“Rumpelstiltskin…” Belle shook her head. No. “ _Rum_.” The nickname fell oddly on her tongue, but it nevertheless had him looking up. “I _am_ flattered. A man such as yourself? You must mean a man who has been nothing but gentle and unfailingly kind to a woman in a very odd situation. A man whom I owe a great many thanks.” When he made to speak Belle clasped his hand even tighter. “You should have more confidence in yourself. I do. I have confidence in _you_.”

 

“Then you are also a fool.”

 

Belle snorted, backing away. Rumpelstiltskin’s hand dropped and he cupped it like he was hoarding a treasure.

 

“Well look at that, at least you’re speaking your mind a bit. Maybe if I show you the truth of my story you’ll be more inclined to believe me when I say that you are good man, Rum, one deserving of your own faith.” Bell turned back to the wheel, stretching her fingers. “You thought I was a nymph?” she asked, ignoring his wince. “I will swear to being fully human, but I do have a touch of magic in me,” and Belle began to spin.

 

She’d thought long and hard about whether to do this and in the end practicality had won out. Belle could be here for months or, the gods forbid, years and Rumpelstiltskin just didn’t have enough to feed the three of them. He needed coin more than housekeeping or reading lessons, and sadly Time hadn’t warned her to pack a purse. So, Belle would have to improvise.

 

Shutting her eyes she tried to concentrate. It was too difficult to completely ignore her current surroundings, so instead Belle recalled her dream from the night before— how the Rumpelstiltskin of her time had blended with the one sitting beside her. Belle pictured a man with gold-green skin lounging on the stool, waiting for her to impress him. When the image was clear she summoned up all the emotions that went with the scene: her contentment at being near him, amusement at his languor, peevishness that he’d distract her so, sleepiness from the meal they’d just consumed, excitement for tomorrows’ plans, the tinniest sliver of fear that she’d disappoint him.

 

Belle let it all well up inside her as she spun.

 

For a few minutes nothing happened. She knew, even without opening her eyes, that there was nothing magical yet. The texture under her fingers never changed. Belle could feel Rumpelstiltskin at her back, but he didn’t interrupt. He just let her spin. Quiet.

 

Until he wasn’t.

 

The strangled gasp let Belle know that she’d done it and she grinned.

 

Spinning gold was not something that came easily to her, but Rumpelstiltskin had insisted. Just like in her story he’d come to her one day–scared? Bored? She didn’t know— but he wanted to spend the night teaching her to spin. At first Belle had agreed wholeheartedly, honored that he’d share his craft with her. It was only when he wanted to move onto gold that she started having doubts.

 

Belle didn’t want magic. She was the woman in her story. What need had she for it?

 

But her Rumpelstiltskin hadn’t waited for her to be captured to teach his lesson. Being able to pay one’s ransom was _exactly_ the reason he’d wanted her to learn. Oh, neither of them were foolish enough to believe that any kidnapper would actually let her go if she gave them gold, but an ability such as that just might keep her alive long enough for Rumpelstiltskin to get to her. Anyone with even a bit of greed wouldn’t be able to stomach killing her. Next to actually being in the Dark One’s employ it was, in many ways, the ultimate safety precaution.

 

“Just protecting my things,” he’d said, as if it were entirely normal for a man to devote weeks to protecting a ‘trinket.’ Like teaching her the proper way to smooth her strands of yarn or how to protect her hands from painful nicks was a necessity.

 

Belle didn’t believe him for a moment.

 

And now…

 

She opened her eyes, seeing first the wheel and then, right beside it, Rumpelstiltskin’s awestruck face. In their short time together Belle had seen him work through a great variety of emotions, but nothing compared to this. His eyes had lost all of their fright, having been completely overtaken by wonder, and his skin quivered with the same excitement babes experienced when they first saw the world, everything overwhelmingly new and wonderful. A lank strand fell across his face and Rumpelstiltskin snatched it away. Belle knew the feeling: the utter need to keep the miracle in sight, lest it slip away.

 

“Do you believe me now?” She asked.

 

“You spin gold.” The response was hardly more than a breath and, unsurprisingly, he hadn’t seemed to hear her question. “You spin gold.” Again. “You—you spin _gold._ ” It had become a mantra, one born of the purest shock; repeat it again and again and maybe it could be understood.

 

“Yes, Rum, I spin gold and I’ll only do this once. Do you hear me? Rum!” To prove her point Belle halted her movements and caught the wheel, forcing it into stillness. Rumpelstiltskin jerked as if drawing from a dream, his own hand reaching out like he couldn’t bear for it to stop. He snatched it back though and that was something.

 

“Rum, now you listen to me.” Belle took his chin in hand and he was still stunned enough that he let her, no flinches or pained gasps. “Why do you think I sent Bae away, hmm?” They both checked the door. There was still the sound of scraping to be heard. “This isn’t the sort of ability I want spread around. As far as I’m aware I’m currently the _only_ one who can spin gold. Do you know what would be done to me, if people knew?”

 

That at least hit home. Rumpelstiltskin let out a full body shudder, though his eyes still strayed toward the wheel, caressing what she’d made.

 

“Well?”

 

“They’d take you,” he admitted. “Keep you. Trap you…” with each addition Rumpelstiltskin came back to himself and Belle could see the fright re-entering his face. “They’d make you to spin,” he said. “If you didn’t—”

 

“They’d torture me.” Belle finished. “Force me. Somehow, someway. First rule of magic, Rum: it _always_ comes with a price. So let’s keep our price at a minimum, yes?”

 

He nodded, gulping.

 

“Good.”

 

It was true. Learning to spin gold when she was in the employ of a powerful Rumpelstiltskin was one thing, doing it in the house of a lame spinner when there were men like Hordor around… it was dangerous. Unconsciously, Belle shifted to block the wheel more fully from view of the door.

 

“As I said, I won’t spin again, not even if you ask, Rum. So don’t.” Even if a part of her wanted to, to lessen the burden on him and Bae. Belle released the urge with a sigh.

 

“My employer taught me,” she explained. “Like in the story. He’s a powerful man, Rum, a man with many enemies and he wanted to ensure my safety. Many might torture a woman to make her spin gold, but no one would ever _kill_ a woman who could do such a thing.”

 

“I understand,” and Belle could see that he did. The astonishment at seeing magic performed in his home was wearing off and now only disbelief at the _type_ of magic remained. Rumpelstiltskin eyed the gold with a raw need, but he made no move to touch it. Gently, Belle gathered the string up, coiling it around her finger. It was only a few feet long and towards the beginning there were patches of plain straw—places where her concentration had lagged—but it was enough. A good thing too. She wasn’t sure she could fall back into the state required to spin more gold and she certainly didn’t want to try.

 

“Could you stitch with this?”

 

“Could—what now?” Rumpelstiltskin fumbled a moment. As he got a closer look at the gold though he focused, an artisan replacing the timid man. Another minute inspecting the thread and he nodded. “Yes, Lady Belle. It’s certainly fine enough—thin, I mean. It would slip easily through a needle and cloth.”

 

“Excellent.” If the mending she’d seen on that tunic was anything to go by, Rumpelstiltskin had as much skill in sewing as he did spinning. Slipping the coil from her finger, Belle handed it to him.

 

Rumpelstiltskin didn’t take it.

 

“Come now, Rum. You think I’m asking if you can stitch out of random curiosity?” He only gapped at her, so Belle took his hand and pressed the gold against his palm. “This,” she emphasized, “is my payment and don’t you _dare_ refuse it. Cleaning, teaching Bae to read… I enjoy those things, Rum and I’d like to continue doing them so long as I’m here, but I won’t be _able_ to stay if there’s not enough food.” Rumpelstiltskin grimaced horribly, but Belle just tugged him closer. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of and I’m beginning to get the sense that the poverty here is due more to the soldiers than the actual war.” Belle scowled when Rumpelstiltskin didn’t refute it. “So here,” she pressed the coil more firmly into his skin. “You take this and you sew a beautiful pattern into some garment. A shirt perhaps. Sell the piece and make sure all three of us eat, okay?”

 

Rumpelstiltskin didn’t answer. For a long time they just sat together— him clutching the gold, Belle cupping his hand. Eventually she felt his fingers tighten against her own and he looked up with a wild sort of gratitude.

 

“You know I’m thankful,” he whispered. “But Lady Belle, I don’t like the idea of you paying for your place here, especially so much. It seems…”

 

“Wrong? Dirty?” Belle shook her head. “It’s not. More than that it’s _necessary._ Rum, I know that if you had more coin you would never take this. You let me stay, even before you knew I could spin gold or that I was of any use to youat all, and the gods know you’ve fought me on what little I’ve offered already.”

 

Belle smiled, reaching up to stroke his cheek. Rumpelstiltskin drew back, but then immediately pushed forward, letting out the quietest whimper as her fingers met stubble. For her own part Belle had to hold in a gasp at the wild look that entered his eyes, right before he closed them. The Rumpelstiltskin of her time had clearly experienced little touch, at least little of the affectionate sort. Belle had only just worked up the courage to remedy that before she was whisked here, but it looked as if this Rumpelstiltskin could do with just as much care. As gently as she could Belle ran her thumb against the whiskers and tried to breathe deeply as he shook.

 

“Don’t think of it as payment, Rum.” She murmured. “It’s a gift between friends.”

 

“Friends?” Belle felt his jaw tighten, saw him struggle not to lean any more against her hand. “I told you, I don’t have friends, Lady Belle.”

 

“Well you do now. Best get used to it.”

 

“Lady—”

 

“Hey! Aren’t you two done yet?”

 

Belle let out a small shriek and Rumpelstiltskin flew away from her, nearly toppling off the back of his stool. Bae stood in the doorway, shivering and glaring at them. Belle immediately moved to block Rumpelstiltskin from his view but she needn’t have bothered, he was already slipping the gold beneath his shirt, hands shaking and silent curses spilling from his lips. A good thing too. The last thing Belle wanted was for Bae to know that she’d done magic. As trustworthy as he might be he was still a young boy and boys his age held on to secrets as easily as a handless man cupped water.

 

“We just finished,” she assured him.

 

“Good.” Warming up a bit by the fire Bae’s foul mood melted away, leaving nothing but happily rosy cheeks. “Papa! There’s only a couple of hours of light left. Are we going to market or not?”

 

“Yes.” The word came out as a rasp. Rumpelstiltskin cleared his throat. “Yes, Bae, no need to fret. It’s not a selling day.” Turning to her he explained, “Normally we only go to market to sell.” He gestured to the basket, piled with half spun thread and un-dyed yarn. “That takes a while and it’s best to leave at dawn, but I’m not ready to set up wares yet. We’ll just be buying today. Not much, but…”

 

But more than what was currently in their kitchen. Belle nodded.

 

As Bae pulled their cloaks and what little coin they had together, Rumpelstiltskin sidled up to her. At first Belle startled, surprised that he’d willingly get so close, especially after Bae’s interruption. His purpose was clear though when she caught a glimpse of gold in his hand.

 

“I’ll tuck it with my other materials. Bae knows better than to interfere with my work. I can start on it tonight, but Lady Belle…” Rumpelstiltskin bit his lip. “Pardon me, but I don’t think you’ve thought this through.”

 

“Oh?” she whispered.

 

“I haven’t any material to work with. Nothing fit for _gold._ ” He shook his head, gazing dazedly down at the hidden sparkle. “We can’t trade it plain— it would be too suspicious. Even if I did have cloth, who would we sell such a garment to? No one here would buy it and the neighboring villages will want to know how a poor spinner came across such a piece. They’ll talk, Lady Belle.”

 

Belle thought a moment.

 

“My dress… you still have it?”

 

For some reason that drew another blush to his cheeks, but Rumpelstiltskin nodded.

 

“Use that then. The underskirts should have faired well against the fire and there will be more than enough material for a shirt. The cloth is plain but of an excellent quality. My employer procured it for me. Would that suit?”

 

“Yes. Of course, Lady Belle.” His face lit a bit; the possibility of not only bettering themselves, but also working on such a magnificent project was clearly exciting him. “And what of a buyer?”

 

“Let me worry about that. I’ll have to give it some thought. You’re right though, we must be careful.”

 

There was no more time for discussion. Bae hopped up beside them. Still dressed from his work outside he’d only added a large satchel and a much smaller purse, the latter of which he handed to Rumpelstiltskin.

 

“Are you ready now, Papa? Please, I want to show Belle everything before it’s dark!”

 

“Yes, Bae. Just… go on ahead. We’re right behind you.”

 

They donned their own cloaks, Belle gratefully stuffing her boots with some extra straw. It would itch something mad but at least her feet would be warmer. As she finished Belle couldn’t help but stare at Rumpelstiltskin, watching as his good humor evaporated. Whatever contentment they’d found by the wheel was dissipating fast, as was his awe and excitement at the gold. The man pulling on a scarf with trembling hands was the same one who’d knelt in her presence, terrified of offending ‘M’lady.’ Belle kept her eyes on her boots, but she could feel him likewise sneaking glances at her. Each one of them burned and when she looked again, Rumpelstiltskin had grown a little paler.

 

“Rum,” she whispered. “Are you okay?”

 

He gave a shaky nod.

 

“Really? Because you hardly look it.” She stood, brushing straw from her dress. “It’s about the market, isn’t it? Are you worried about the other villagers?” Belle hesitated before laying a hand on his arm. It was hard as iron under her palm and terribly cold. Biting her lip she continued, “Or… me? Are you worried about how they’ll treat me?”

 

He tore away, hobbling for the door. “Oh no, M’lady,” he said, voice bitter. “They’ll treat you with nothing but the upmost respect.” Belle winced at the title, slipping coldly from his lips. It was clear that things were regressing fast and heaven above, she hadn’t the slightest idea why. The market was obviously an uncomfortable place for him—and no wonder, given his interactions with the villagers that she’d seen thus far—but why this sudden tension? Surely he had to brave the market frequently for supplies. The only difference now that Belle could determine was her.

 

“I… I’ll try not to embarrass you,” she ventured. Could that be it? “If that’s your worry. I realize I’m not from these parts, but—”

 

Rumpelstiltskin cut her off with another, awful laugh. He looked at her then and his face was lined with such self-loathing that Belle recoiled.

 

“You could not embarrass me, M’lady—”

 

“’Lady Belle,’ Rum. Please. Surely we’re past this?”

 

“… Lady Belle.” he acknowledged. “But you may want for me to do away with such familiarity soon enough. You claim to be my friend—”

 

“I _am_ your friend.”

 

Rumpelstiltskin’s lips twisted and Belle knew then that, despite her attempts thus far to comfort, he truly didn’t believe her.

 

“If you insist,” he said and she nodded, frantically. He ignored the movement. “I doubt that your generosity will last though. If anything, Lady Belle, I should apologize for the embarrassment I’ll bring down on you. Please, don’t for a minute feel guilt if you want to…” He swallowed, hard. “That is to say, I’m grateful for your friendship while it lasted. Truly, Lady Belle. More than I can say.”

 

“ _What?_ Rum—”

 

“Come. We’ve left Bae waiting long enough.”

 

He limped out— would have ran out if he could, Belle had no doubt. She was left swaying in the middle of the kitchen, wondering how they’d gone from a peaceful story and the magic of spinning gold to this… terror. For Belle recognized it as such, no doubt of it. Rumwas cloaked in the same tension her Rumpelstiltskin had emanated when, two weeks into her stay at the Dark Castle he informed her that it was over— the ogres surrounding her father’s land were gone and his end of the deal was complete. At the time Belle couldn’t fathom why he’d look so scared telling her that, but the emotion had been as obvious as it was now, only he’d covered it better with giggles and flourishing gestures.

 

It had taken Belle a while to realize that Rumpelstiltskin thought she would leave; that, with the knowledge of her family and peoples’ safety, she would have no reason to stay with a monster. Of course, they both knew that Belle couldn’t go back on her deal and there was little, practically speaking, that she could have done to escape, but she could nonetheless understand his fear. It wasn’t a worry that she would literally escape, but rather dreading the fact that she’d want to. Rumpelstiltskin had feared that she would come to resent her promise, everyday demonstrating how much she despised his presence by ceaselessly attempting the impossible, or perhaps even doing something… drastic to gain her freedom. There were ways to escape other than through the front gate. His fears had hit home for Belle when that first week, after learning of the ogres removal, she had found the knives in the kitchen blunted, the windows locked, the drapes of her bed removed, and Rumpelstiltskin refused to let her clean anything other than the first floor, denying her access to anything higher than a footstool.

 

Belle shivered. That fear had consumed Rumpelstiltskin for a good month before he realized that she would neither run from him nor throw herself from a tower. Perhaps this Rumpelstiltskin felt the same? Not that she would harm herself of course, but that she would find something in the market that would make her want to leave this place…

 

The awful thing was that she _did_ want to leave. Not to abandon this Rumpelstiltskin, but merely to get back to the one she knew. It was a contradictory desire that was slowly transforming itself into guilt. Belle wanted to go back to the Dark Castle but she wanted to stay here too; a pitiful wish to merge two worlds like she’d done in her dream. She wanted Bae with her, to know what had happened to him and to simultaneously never _ever_ go near such a tragedy. And of course, it was never lost on Belle that she was here by design. She felt no obligation towards Time, but that didn’t mean that their interests weren’t beginning to align. Belle wanted to somehow smooth things over, not as a favor to some manipulative god, but simply because this was _Rumpelstiltskin._ Rumpelstiltskin and Bae.

 

Hesitantly, a large part of Belle not even wanting to attempt it, she opened her mouth to speak a name. She’d told Rumpelstiltskin that all parts of her story were true, pulled from various tales across the realm, and one detail in particular had originated from her own childhood. All little girls and boys heard stories about the Dark One, fantastical accounts of his cruelty that, sadly, weren’t always exaggerated. But they’d also also useful facts that might benefit a child who had the misfortune of growing into a desperate man or woman: Rumpelstiltskin will always make a deal, he will always keep his deal, and he will _always_ come when he’s called.

 

Three times then.

 

Timidly, Belle said, “Rumpelstiltskin, Rumpelstiltskin, Rumpelstiltskin—”

 

—and she didn’t quite know if she was relieved or devastated that nothing happened.

 

Following her own voice in the hut, the softest strain filtered through the door: a call of “Belle!” in a young boy’s voice.

 

Belle straightened. Nothing to it then. She couldn’t decide where she most wanted to be, so the universe had decided for her. She’s tried, she’d failed, and that was that. Belle didn’t have time to be contemplating the fascinating reality that summoning spells didn’t work across time. There was too much else to be worrying about; like foolish men who thought she could be intimidated by a town’s intolerance.

 

Well, if that _was_ Rum’s fear, it was easily relieved. Come tonight, when the three of them were again tucked safely in their little home, he would have to face the fact that she wasn’t planning on leaving. Not just yet. It was perhaps then, a wonderful thing that the spell had failed. She wouldn’t want him getting the wrong idea.

 

Belle smiled softly. The promise to stay. She wondered if this Rumpelstiltskin would look as shocked by loyalty as hers had.

 

It was bound to be an interesting night.

 


	9. The Market

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! Please take a break from holiday madness and enjoy another chapter of ridiculous, time travel, woobie-infused fic XD

It wasn’t difficult for Lady Belle to catch up to them.

 

Rumpelstiltskin was painfully aware at how slow they were moving. Bae plunged ahead through the snow, crunching waist deep as only the young could, but he dragged a good cart length behind. Rumpelstiltskin honestly didn’t know if he dragged his feet because the snow was quite the obstacle for a lame man—which it was—or if he was just trying to delay the inevitable.

 

Gods. Market. What was he thinking, bringing Lady Belle along?

 

“Hey, there!”

 

She jogged up beside him, maneuvering her skirts around the snow in a manner that was impossibly elegant. Rumpelstiltskin already had an excuse on his tongue—it was a long walk, she was till recovering, there was really no reason for her to venture out—when Lady Belle slipped her arm into his. Already her cheeks were a becoming pink from the cold and her lips, though chapped, looked soft in the late afternoon light. When she smiled at him Rumpelstiltskin promptly forgot what he’d been about to say.

 

Ask her to leave his side, even for a few hours? Never.

 

Besides, this might well be the last day he’d get with her.

 

“Which way?” she asked.

 

He pointed to the shrinking form that was Bae ahead of them and the child-sized path he’d been making. Lady Belle laughed at his son’s excitement, pulling him along with equal fervor. They set off.

 

It took him about fifteen minutes to realize that Lady Belle didn’t plan on letting go of his arm. She didn’t hang on him, as Rumpelstiltskin often imagined noble ladies did with strong suitors, but rather her hand rested lightly near his elbow. It was the same touch she’d graced his face with and Rumpelstiltskin swallowed, remembering the feel of her fingers atop his skin. The last time someone had touched him such was… well, perhaps never. Bae was a boy, fond of a quick hug or kiss, and even at their happiest Milah had never cared for sweet gestures. They’d made love, once, and the result had been Bae. That had been enough touch for her, at least from him.

 

But Lady Belle… she was a wonderfully strange little thing; touching him like it was the most natural thing in the world. The first night that he’d gotten to look upon her, Rumpelstiltskin had known he could die pleased with his lot: Bae, and an innocent beauty beneath his roof. He didn’t know what to do, now that he was being given even more.

 

What price would he have to pay for the hand she now rested on his arm?

 

If anything, Lady Belle paid for her kind gesture, for _he_ leaned continually on _her_. Rumpelstiltskin needed both his arms on his crutch, planting it firmly in the snow so he could either drag his useless leg up or through the mounds of snow. It was embarrassing work that often ended in him losing his balance, but Lady Belle was always there. She steadied him without a word and did not sneer at his grateful mutterings. They made slow but steady progress, always aiming for the image of Bae in the distance.

 

“Should he be running off on his own?” Lady Belle asked.

 

“Not much that can hurt him out here,” Rumpelstiltskin grunted, carefully maneuvering around a hidden patch of ice. “We haven’t any wolves or bears. Nothing larger than the tamed dogs I’d wager.”

 

“Well that’s reassuring. I was worried at first, when I woke up.”

 

Rumpelstiltskin paused, wondering how hard he dared push. He couldn’t deny that he was terribly curious though. He wanted to know everything about Lady Belle…

 

“Woke up?” he ventured. She shot him a knowing look.

 

“Yes. I arrived in an… unusual fashion.”

 

There could only be one meaning to that, given her little demonstration inside. Though the ‘how’ or ‘why’ of it was still equally dark.

 

“Magic,” Rumpelstiltskin voiced and then immediately cast a fearful look behind him. Most would have already headed out towards market, but one could never be sure. Lady Belle nodded.

 

“My situation is a curious one,” she said, “and I’m afraid it’s not something that I can explain to you. Oh, not because I don’t trust you,” Lady Belle squeezed his arm and Rumpelstiltskin found himself nearly tripping again. “I do. Truly. But I am not so foolish as to think I have any great understanding of this… art form.”

 

Rumpelstiltskin felt the gold, warm inside the hidden pocket that he’d long ago sewn into the underside of his tunic. Foolish really, for what valuables did a spinner have to hide? But it had amused him at the time and now he was grateful that he had it. It was a reminder. Not just that he now had a means of providing for all three of them, but also of the wonder that was the woman beside him.

 

“You seemed… skilled, back home,” he ventured.

 

Lady Belle gave a tight smile. “You would think that, wouldn’t you?” The words should have been pitying, but Rumpelstiltskin took no insult from them. It was true after all. “What I did back there was child’s play, Rum, a jester’s trick compared to what my employer does. It also took me weeks to learn. Think of it this way: putting aside the quirk of what I was spinning, you understand the wheel better than most, yes?”

 

He nodded. Other than Bae there was little that Rumpelstiltskin took pride in, but he’d always done good work at his wheel. It was a poor man’s trade, but it was his.

 

“Then think of the greatest thing you’ve ever spun, Rum. The softest yarn, the most delicate threads. That’s my employer. Me? Back there I spun a mess of coarse rope.”

 

“…Oh.” Could spinning gold really be viewed as that… trite? “You know, making rope is an art all its own…”

 

To his relief Lady Belle laughed. “Stop trying to cheer me. Besides, even if I did have a better understanding I wouldn’t want to chance anything. Please, just trust me in this. Someone I care for deeply could be hurt if I don’t keep my own council.”

 

Rumpelstiltskin hesitated at that admission, something hot coiling in his breast. Cared for deeply? He had little doubt; Lady Belle seemed to care for everyone. But… could she be married? Rumpelstiltskin gave her person a quick once over, even though he knew that he’d already stared at her enough to have noticed any charm of the sort. She had no rings on her fingers, or an engagement pendant, nor even the ribbons some women wore on their wrists, symbols that they were to wed in the next season. He supposed it was possible that Anualt had removed such an ornament when dressing her in Morraine’s clothes, but surely Lady Belle would have noticed its absence by now?

 

No. There was no engagement, just someone she… cared for. Immediately Rumpelstiltskin’s mind jumped to the only name she’d given him: his own. Or rather, another ‘Rumple.’ Could that Rumple be the one she spoke of? Perhaps he was the employer she’d mentioned? The one who treated her kindly and taught her to spin straw into gold. It would go a long way towards explaining her patience with him. Surely it was more likely that her fondness was born out of the coincidence of a shared name, rather than any true interest in the village spinner. Surely that was the case…

 

Yet Lady Belle had named him friend, and Rumpelstiltskin believed her.

 

Truly, he knew little about friendship and even less about love—at least in terms of anything beyond his affection for Bae. Rumpelstiltskin certainly hadn’t seen much love of the romantic sort in his village. His parents had never loved one another and there was little romance to be found amidst a war. Woman who proclaimed to be in love were either young fools or those who were getting on in years, those who knew that declaring love to any willing man was better than living as a spinster. Now, the only men left were those that were necessary for the running the village—already married—and the poor souls who came back broken from the battlefield.

 

Oh, and Rumpelstiltskin of course.

 

He winced, murmuring a quick apology to Lady Belle as he stumbled, taking them both off balance. It would take the power of the gods to convince any lady to wear his ribbon. No fathers came knocking at his door and the women certainly didn’t come of their own accord. Even before his service, when he was merely a coward’s son rather than a coward in his own right, Milah could only regret being nudged into the marriage by her father. Oh, they had their moments, brief flickers of regard when she was pregnant and they both foolishly hoped that a child would bring them together. It had always been clear though that Milah felt caged. She wanted to see the world, not raise a timid man’s child. And then came the war…

 

Now being a widow, spinster, or tying oneself to a drunken abuser… anything was better than being his bride.

 

Lady Belle though, how could she _not_ have someone? No doubt the man she cared for, whether he be this Rumple or not, was as strong and brave and beautiful as she was. She wouldn’t speak so fondly of anyone less. Lady Belle might not currently be engaged but perhaps, when she returned home, she would be.

 

Rumpelstiltskin tried not to think too much on that.

 

“Are you alright?” Lady Belle had noticed his silence. Slowing a bit, she reached her hand across to brush a bit of snow from his hair. She took on a strange expression and Rumpelstiltskin again thought of fairy lore; how the stories said they could read mortal’s minds.

 

“You know,” she said. “There _is_ someone I care for back home, but there’s someone I care for here too.” And seven hells maybe she _was_ a fairy if she could read him as easily as one of her books.

 

“Indeed?” Rumpelstiltskin’s voice could barely be heard, muffled as it was near his chest.

 

“Indeed. Well…” Lady Belle’s gaze drifted forward, settling on something in the distance. “ _Two_ people, really.”

 

Bae. Of course. Rumpelstiltskin didn’t know much of love, but he knew he loved his son. And watching Lady Belle wave to him… he thought he could love her too. Fall _in_ love with her.

 

Rumpelstiltskin wondered if he already had.

 

“I’m… I’m glad to hear that,” he said and they were probably the most truthful words he’d ever spoken.

 

“Good.”

 

Her hand settled right back on his arm, comfortable. Rumpelstiltskin looked down at his wife’s gloves and was glad that they were now warming a woman he truly cared for.

 

They walked on in silence the rest of the way, waving Bae on every time he trotted back to gripe at them. At this rate the boy would be exhausted by the time they arrived, but Rumpelstiltskin couldn’t bring himself to tell Bae to stay with them. He was enjoying the time with Lady Belle more than he had any right to—the mingling of their breath before them, the synchronized crunching of their steps in the snow. It was intimate. Cherished. Rumpelstiltskin planted his crutch firmly against the ground and tightened his fingers until they ached in the cold, trying to dispel his dream-like feelings. It was difficult when everything was so surreal. He was quite sure that the snow in these parts had never been so bright before and certainly, a woman as beautiful as Lady Belle wasn’t walking arm in arm with him.

 

Yet with every step Rumpelstiltskin turned and she was still there.

 

Her arm never dropped. Not when he slipped, not when Bae begged her to run ahead with him. Not even when they began to reach the fields where market took place.

 

Rumpelstiltskin could feel himself stiffening, his arm toughening into wood beneath her hand. Ahead of them was an expanse cleared of snow, more out of trampling feet than hard labor. There were still a great number of people despite the terrible weather, sellers lining up in their usual spots. Those who required carts to transport their goods had to make do with large baskets and the decrease in goods meant that, by now, a few were beginning to pack up and leave. Even so, the market was still bustling— people chattering and bargaining and cursing the cold. No sooner had they made it to the field’s edge than the closest began to stare, their eyes jumping from him, to Lady Belle, and back to him with a look of disbelief.

 

She still didn’t let go of his arm.

 

“M’lady—” Rumpelstiltskin nearly cursed at the look she gave him, and quickly corrected himself. “Lady Belle, perhaps you would care to…?”

 

“Yes?”

 

He nodded down at her hand, but instead of disappearing, it tightened.

 

“No, Rum. If it’s all the same to you, I’m happy just where I am.”

 

“But, Lady Belle…”

 

Couldn’t she see? _He_ certainly could. They’d made it into the throng and everyone was whispering now, the words ‘coward’ and ‘traitor’ cutting through the wind. The further in they got the more confused Lady Belle became. She tilted her ears towards the insults, peeking down at him as if she wasn’t sure who they were meant for. The hand not branding him lifted to greet another young lady who’d caught her eye, but Lady Belle aborted the gesture when the woman scowled. Rumpelstiltskin shrank against the assault. Lady Belle finally stopped completely, a particularly vicious “deserter!” hitting its mark. Slowly, she turned to him.

 

“Rum…” She paused, unsure. An older man’s glare encouraged her. “They…?” She questioned.

 

Rumpelstiltskin nodded, but before he could get any further he heard the familiar _hawk_ as a woman, thankfully not of his village, spat at the back of his heel. Before he could comprehend what was happening Lady Belle had finally ripped her arm from his, whirling and stalking back towards the woman.

 

“L-lady Belle!”

 

She paid him no mind.

 

“Excuse me,” Lady Belle called, “You there!”

 

The woman turned, eyes calm but determined. She wasn’t much older than Rumpelstiltskin himself.

 

“Yes, M’lady?” she simpered.

 

“Please apologize.”

 

Even dressed in Morraine’s coarse threads and a man’s cloak, it was clear that Lady Belle was no pauper. She stood tall with her hands folded politely over her stomach, managing to look both open and unmoving at once. It was the stance of a woman used to being obeyed—or at least one accustomed to wielding logic and persuasion wisely. The woman, however, did not balk.

 

“What for, M’lady?”

 

She shuffled a bit before Lady Belle, but she did not look away and there was certainly no apology forthcoming from her lips.

 

“What for?” Lady Belle echoed the girl’s words, her own voice tinged with disgust. “Is an apology really so much to ask after you’ve gravely insulted this man—”

 

“Not a man, M’lady.” The woman hawked again but did not spit, content it seemed to just sneer at him. “Monster is more like it. Twisted thing.”

 

“A _man_ ,” Lady Belle insisted, overriding Rumpelstiltskin’s desperate attempts to intervene.

 

“No, please. You don’t need to—”

 

“I will not tolerate this,” she hissed.

 

“Tolerate, M’lady?” The woman laughed, tucking her basket high in the crook of her arm. “What do I care what you can and can’t tolerate? Pretty things like you are always getting what you want, doesn’t mean _I_ need to be kissing your feet though.” Her eyes sunk downwards. “Your boots are as run down as mine, M’lady. Funny, ain’t it? At least I’m not the one holding hands with a beast.” Giving a final, spiteful spit the woman marched off. Lady Belle made to chase after her but Rumpelstiltskin snagged her cloak.

 

“Please. Lady Belle, please—”

 

“They…”

 

“I’m not worth it—”

 

“They _hate_ you.”

 

Rumpelstiltskin finally managed to turn her, though to his surprise Lady Belle seemed quite unable to grasp this, shaking her head in a bewildered manner. She gestured to him, to the crowd, frowning deeper and longer. Her eyes kept straying back towards the woman, her back still firmly to them both.

 

“Rum, I thought I’d understood after the fire but…” she shook her head again.

 

There was quiet between them for a time, the only noise being muffled curses and booted feet that went out of their way to avoid them. Rumpelstiltskin fidgeted, painfully aware that she had yet to back away from him.

 

“But what?” he finally whispered.

 

“I thought they were scared.” Daring to peek up, Rumpelstiltskin caught her full in the face. Lady Belle looked as if she might weep. “I thought they were _scared_ , Rum,” she insisted. “That none of them had the courage to enter a fire and they were using you as an excuse. And that would have been okay! Anyone would have been frightened. But this—this…”

 

“No, M’lady.” Gently, Rumpelstiltskin took her hand and pulled it from his arm. The fingers were now quite limp. “No one went after Bae because I’m the village coward. You don’t save a coward’s son. I… I should have told you.” He backed away, unheeding of the ice or his trembling frame. “I know I should have. You have every right to hate me.”

 

“Hate you?” Lady Belle stilled.

 

Rumpelstiltskin nodded, the movement jerking his whole body. “Yes. Gods, yes, I’m so sorry for keeping it from you, M’lady. Truly I didn’t mean nothing by it. You were so exhausted after the fire and your wounds needed healing, I would never have forced you into my company if it hadn’t been necessary. I was going to tell you as soon as you woke, but…” Rumpelstiltskin gave a small, bitter laugh. “Well, I’m a coward, aren’t I? You were kind, so kind, and Bae adores you. I—I didn’t want you to go.” He gestured to the crowd around them, helplessly. “You were gonna find out soon enough. I just— I just wanted one more day with you, please don’t hate me for that. I’m sorry, I—”

 

Rumpelstiltskin’s arms curled back against him, a protective gesture, and as they did he brushed the small lump, hidden under layers of clothes.

 

The gold. A physical, painful reminder of exactly how kind Lady Belle had been. Rumpelstiltskin could feel it burning against his chest and gods, he didn’t want to part with it, not when it could do so much good for Bae, but he couldn’t rightfully keep it. Not when Lady Belle had given it to a figment of a man, one she now knew didn’t exist.

 

Rumpelstiltskin didn’t dare bring it out, not with so many people around, but he brushed a hand over the pocket and Lady Belle’s eyes widened.

 

“You should take it,” he whispered and she reeled as if he’d struck her.

 

“M’lady, please. I’m so sorry—”

 

“ _Be silent_.”

 

The order was quick, sharp, and Rumpelstiltskin straightened as much as he could, his pitiful army training kicking in. Lady Belle’s eyes had frozen into glaciers during his speech, glaring at him in a way she never had before. Rumpelstiltskin ducked away from the sudden assault, half expecting a more physical one to follow in the form of a slap. Of course Lady Belle wouldn’t want him prattling on with excuses, weak justifications. She no doubt wanted to leave his presence as soon as possible and he truly couldn’t blame her. With as much dignity as he could manage Rumpelstiltskin stared at his boots, listening for the damning crunch of snow as she marched away.

 

It didn’t come.

 

Instead he found that Lady Belle was still glaring, her arms now wrapped tight about her waist. She seemed to be waiting for something. For him to grovel? That’s what Milah had liked: demeaning gestures, preferably in public. Well, there were certainly enough people here and Rumpelstiltskin would kneel before all of them if Lady Belle wished it, if only for the futile chance that it would change her gaze from outright anger to cool indifference. He could deal with that. Endlessly thankful that Bae was still lost to the crowd, he nodded. Swallowing rhythmically Rumpelstiltskin began lowing himself into the snow.

 

“M’lady, _please._ I’m s—”

 

“Stop saying that!”

 

Instead of running away— gods above why wasn’t she running?—Lady Belle stalked forward until her chest nearly touched his. Rumpelstiltskin landed on one knee, unconsciously curling to avoid her kick. But she only took his chin, forcing him to meet his gaze. Lady Belle was as hot as a bonfire in her anger and Rumpelstiltskin stopped breathing, freezing like a rabbit beneath those cold, blue eyes.

 

“What are you saying?” She hissed. “What are you _doing_? You think I want you on your knees?” With a mighty yank she hauled him back to his feet and Rumpelstiltskin stumbled, thrown completely off balance. He landed with both hands and his crutch pressed up against her and Lady Belle, far from pushing him away, tugged him fully into her arms. Shaking with anger and with a hundred eyes on them both, Lady Belle hugged him.

 

“Why are you apologizing?” she demanded. She sounded like she was crying. “Damn you, Rumpelstiltskin, you’re always apologizing!”

 

He hadn’t a clue what to do. Floundering, his arms spasmed until Lady Belle tightened her hold and they had nowhere to go but around her back, his crutch oddly nestled between her shoulder blades. He waited for the trick, the moment when she pushed him back and things started making sense again, but as the moments passed Lady Belle only continued to hold him, her nails digging through his cloak, tunic, and skin. He was too stunned to protest, let alone enjoy the feel of her pressed flush against him, her tiny frame taking the whole of his weight. Rumpelstiltskin could only hold on and attempt to hear her, as impossible as her words were.

 

“You really are a fool, you know that?” He automatically nodded but Lady Belle thumped him angrily on the back, letting out a frustrated screech. “Oh stop agreeing to such things! Rumpelstiltskin! Did you honestly think I was mad at you?” He nodded again, this time far more hesitantly. She didn’t hit him, but he could feel the muscles of her arms shaking. “Well okay then, you _are_ a fool. At least in this. Now I’m going to tell you something and by the gods you’re going to listen, understand?” A third time nodding. “You are not a coward—no. Don’t you dare interrupt me! You’re _not._ I know cowards when I see them and you, Rumpelstiltskin, are brave in ways these people can’t even begin to understand. So don’t you dare try to justify their, their— _bigotry._ The next time you want to buy into this ridiculous label of ‘coward’ you just remember who it was that ran towards that fire. Oh yes—” Her hands rose again, but this time they were calmer. They buried in his hair with determination. “I saw you that night. You would have gone in. I _know_ you would have. That makes you braver than all of them combined—to the point of idiocy! Rum, you’ve barely enough to eat and you try to give back _gold._ ” The word was barely a whisper, but it reverberated through them both. “Who else is like you? Who here is a single parent, raising a young child amidst a war? Who else would have stayed in this village, despite this _disgusting_ treatment?” Lady Belle growled the questions into his ear, quick and challenging.

 

She was twisting things terribly… Rumpelstiltskin so wanted to believe her. He couldn’t though, not when she was so obviously mistaken.

 

“There are other parents here.” He whispered. “Far better ones than me.”

 

“I seriously doubt it. Bae adores you.”

 

“Yes, but…” Rumpelstiltskin swallowed. Shook his head. He couldn’t argue that point, not now. “M’lady, it’s also not bravery to stay here, not when there’s nothing else out there. I was too afraid to leave…”

 

“A perfectly rational fear, but it takes courage to stay as well as to leave.” Determined, she stroked her fingers deeper into his hair. Rumpelstiltskin shuddered at the feeling.

 

“M’lday,” he could feel his himself breaking, coming apart beneath her hands. “There’s a reason I’m the village coward. You don’t _know_ —”

 

“No. I don’t. Which only means that you owe me a story when we get home.” He stiffened again at that word and Lady Belle, immediately understanding, shushed him. “You heard me. Our home. I’m not leaving, Rum.”

 

Rumpelstiltskin could feel himself choking.

 

“… Promise?”

 

“ _Yes._ ”

 

He knew it was a lie, it had to be, but in that moment Lady Belle sounded so much as if she meant it. Giving up Rumpelstiltskin drew a massive breath and then cut it, sagging completely against her. She caught him, one arm acting as a band around his shoulders while her other hand stayed in his hair, twirling the grimy strands. It was too much. With Lady Belle’s impossible promise soothing him Rumpelstiltskin was finally able to feel her; a cascade of affectionate touch after years of only experiencing Bae’s and decades of a wife and father’s attention that was born only out of necessity. Lady Belle’s comfort was overwhelming, to the extent that it hurt nearly as much as a soldier’s beating. The only difference was that Rumpelstiltskin curled into her instead of away.

 

He buried his nose against her neck and was not at all concerned that he couldn’t breathe. Though Rumpelstiltskin’s body wasn’t as agreeable. He could feel a hitch building in his chest and he was powerless to contain it. The tension was released as a harsh sob that was lost in Lady Belle’s curls. She heard it though. A kiss was pressed to the salty space beneath his ear and it broke him even further.

 

“It’s okay, Rum. It’s alright. Whatever you need right now, I promise.”

 

Lady Belle continued to murmur to him, her voice as calming as the hands kneading into his back. Everything about her was pleasant, from the cold bite of her skin against his to the rhythm he felt within her; a steady heartbeat that matched his own. Rumpelstiltskin knew then that he’d lied in more ways than one; not only to Lady Belle, but equally to himself. There was no _possibility_ of loving her; he _did_ love her, irrevocably. He’d known her two days only, but Rumpelstiltskin trembled at the thought of what might have occurred, had she been swayed by the town’s malice. If she’d turned on him, if she’d left… Rumpelstiltskin knew that she still had to leave, for this was certainly not her home, but the knowledge ate away at him in a way it hadn’t before her arms wrapped around him. He never wanted to be anywhere but here.

 

They took their time swaying together, Rumpelstiltskin still hitching into her neck. Briefly Lady Belle seemed to pull away—leaving him clutching and emitting panicky whines—but she only lifted her own head a bit before tucking him back against her, into a cocoon of warmth.

 

“Breathe, Rum, breathe, don’t pay any attention to them, just breathe with me—” and he realized that she’d been staring down another villager, one who’d dared to get too close, invading their private moment. With that knowledge the other gazes sharpened. They shot through even Lady Belle’s protective barrier and Rumpelstiltskin didn’t need to look to see them. This was a new kind of reaction: not only the familiar disgust and resignation at his displays, but now also shock that this stranger—a beautiful, cultured stranger—was rocking him like a babe. Rumpelstiltskin was well beyond embarrassment, but Lady Belle deserved respect. The longer she publically comforted him the more that respect was threatened, so slowly, slowly enough to prove that he was still a selfish man, Rumpelstiltskin pulled away.

 

Lady Belle was having none of it. She trailed her hands directly from his hair down to his jaw, cupping both cheeks. There was a little time for bathing in his life, especially during the colder months when water could no longer be drawn from the well, and Rumpelstiltskin could feel the oil that had coated Lady Belle’s fingers. She hardly seemed to mind though. She swept slippery thumbs along his skin and smiled at him. Amazingly, she too appeared comforted, though Rumpelstiltskin would never have believed it if the evidence wasn’t right in front of him; in the easy line of Lady Belle’s shoulder and the anger that, while not gone, had receded into the far corners of her eyes.

 

“Better?” she asked and Rumpelstiltskin nodded truthfully into her palms. “Good.”

 

Lady Belle dropped one hand, the other skipped from his cheek, down his neck, and back around his elbow; returning to where they’d begun.

 

“We still have a lot to discuss,” she said seriously. “I want to know what possible reason these people _think_ they have for treating you this way and no, I can promise you that I won’t be buying into it. Do you realize how insulting that is, Rum? That you think I’d toss away your friendship because of some village gossip, or even a real mistake from your past?” Lady Belle tugged at him until he looked, and Rumpelstiltskin could see that she spoke truth. At least, a truth that she believed. “Whatever happened, Rum, it’ll never be worth more than _you_ , here and now. That I swear.”

 

He nodded again. It seemed all he was capable of doing, his voice having left him with his sobs. There was something sticking in the back of his throat, but for the life of him Rumpelstiltskin couldn’t release it. The words were nothing but folly; a terrible representation of what he couldn’t have.

 

Lady Belle did not call him on his silence, only turned him back on their path.

 

“You owe me that story.” She said. “I think it best that we leave these discussions for now though. We’ve given them enough of a show, wouldn’t you say?” Lady Belle scowled at everyone and everything around them, but her hostility did little good. The whispers were fierce, rustling like a forest thick with wind. The villagers had been anxious the moment they’d come into view but now they churned with aversion. Rumpelstiltskin would swear that the only thing holding them back was Lady Belle’s obvious nobility… and the clenched fists at her sides.

 

However, the tension they’d drummed up was palpable. Having sensed the crowd’s change in mood Bae suddenly appeared between two women, pushing to skitter back to them. Upon reaching Rumpelstiltskin his hand came up to clutch at his Papa’s cloak, his body nestled against his left side— the side not already guarded by Lady Belle. It was a position he’d adopted countless times before, for Bae was well used to these outings, yet today his grip was fierce and he easily caught the redness of Rumpelstiltskin’s eyes; the tear tracks. Hastily, he made to wipe at his cheeks.

 

“Papa?” he murmured.

 

“I’m fine, Bae.”

 

“But—”

 

“Truly, son.” Rumpelstiltskin smiled as best he could and oddly, it came out warmer than he expected. He could still feel Lady Belle’s hands, smoothing his hair.

 

“What about you, Bae?” She asked, her eyes jumping from a glare to revulsion to a stony, indifferent expression. Lady Belle led them forward and they parted the villagers like a ship at sea.

 

“Yeah, Belle. Don’t worry. It’s just… people are talking.” Hesitantly, Bae nodded at another boy about his age. The child grinned before being drawn away by how own papa. “I guess it’s alright though. Don’t be mad at them, Belle. No one here is actually a bad person… they’re just a little mean sometimes. You can ignore them.”

 

Stumping along Rumpelstiltskin closed his eyes, equally proud and appalled by his son’s assurances. These were the people who had abandoned him to an inferno, yet Bae would never condemn them. He didn’t know if that made him the purest sole or the ultimate fool.

 

Rumpelstiltskin’s question was answered when Lady Belle leaned forward, smiling down at Bae.

 

“That’s very wise,” she said. “I’ll take that advice. Thank you, Bae.”

 

And she did just that. Mesmerized, Rumpelstiltskin watched as Lady Belle’s hands uncurled and her frame loosened, reverting back to the woman who just moments ago had cradled him, like he was something delicate and rare. His little nymph seemed to move fluidly between the most contradictory passions: soft invitations of comfort and a coiled defense, the promise of peace and the promise to strike. Now though, she’d chosen peace.

 

Sliding closer Lady Belle lifted her chin, letting everyone know that she wasn’t ashamed to once again take his arm. Before he knew what he was about Rumpelstiltskin dipped and pressed the briefest kiss to the back of her gloved hand. The wool scratched against his lips and gods, he could never explain what possessed him, but the pleased color that entered Lady Belle’s cheeks was well worth it. This gesture, like everything these two days past, was hardly enough. Never, never enough.

 

“No more of this?” Lady Belle held up two fingers, referencing the beggar’s kiss he’d given her the morning she’d woken.

 

“No.” Rumpelstiltskin whispered. “I—”

 

Love you.

 

“T-that is, not if you don’t wish it.”

 

“I don’t,” and she smiled like she’d heard the words.

 

The moment dissipated quickly though. Suddenly leaning back, Lady Belle maneuvered around his shoulders, mock glaring at Bae. His son was giggling wildly into his sleeves.

 

“Hush you!” she called. “Haven’t you ever seen a gentleman kiss a lady before?”

 

Rumpelstiltskin nearly upended them at the word ‘gentleman.’ Shaking his head he pulled them further along, towards a familiar patch of trees. The villagers still avoided them as if they carried a sickness and the space they provided allowed him to see Dolin with ease.

 

“Come,” he urged them. Lady Belle’s support or no, best that they get this over with as quickly as possible. Rumpelstiltskin didn’t know how long this avoidance would last, and he didn’t wish to test it. Best to get their goods as quickly as possible and head home, even if home did now mean that he would have to tell Lady Belle… everything. Rumpelstiltskin swallowed. The very last thing he wanted to do was give her proof of the village’s condemnation, but she hadn’t turned away from him yet and she’d sworn that she wouldn’t. Somehow, he had to find enough bravery to trust her.

 

Lady Belle was worth it.

 

“Bae,” Rumpelstiltskin prompted, and his son straightened.

 

“Bread from Dolin,” the boy recited. “More meat, some to be salted and some for now. Eggs if we can manage it, and you need more wool.” Rumpelstiltskin nodded. His skill at the wheel allowed him to spin far more than his few sheep could produce, so a few from the neighboring villages were willing to sell him their wool directly. He spun finer yarn than any of them could manage and that skill allowed Rumpelstiltskin to make a profit—barely. Dolin first then, and then he’d see any would sell to him this week.

 

He wondered if having Lady Belle on his arm would be a help or a hindrance.

 

Rumpelstiltskin didn’t get a chance to find out. Lady Belle spotted her a moment before he did: Anualt, standing with a towering basket of herbs. It was hard to miss her given that she was now the only one in their path and despite the shrinking distance between them, she did not move. When her old eyes caught them in turn Anualt actually beckoned them over.

 

“Spinner,” she greeted. The familiar cough echoed in her chest but her eyes were bright, running over Lady Belle. “Keeping to our deal I hope?”

 

“If by that you mean has Rumpelstiltskin treated me with the kindness and decency he would have shown any guest, then yes.” Lady Belle pursed her lips, eyeing the elder woman in turn. For a moment he feared that some of her general anger at the village would find itself aimed at Anualt, but Lady Belle only shook her head sadly. “While I appreciate the… sentiment behind your deal, Anualt, I am _not_ a piece to be bartered with.”

 

“Oh ho! Just as feisty as you were that night, M’lady. Glad to hear it, glad to hear it. You’ll need a thick skin on you, hanging from that one’s arm.” Rumpelstiltskin tensed but Lady Belle only gripped him tighter.

 

“I’m not ashamed.” She insisted.

 

“I can see that.”

 

“But you believe I should be?”

 

“Oh, M’lady. I have the feeling you’ve taken the arms of far worse men than our spinner here.”

 

Rumpelstiltskin reeled at the implication, and the insult. That Anualt would suggest such a thing… but he was shocked to see that Lady Belle nodded. Hesitantly, but it was there.

 

“In a manner of speaking,” she murmured.

 

“Mm hmm. I’m old, child, but I know these things.” Quick as lightning Anualt snatched Lady Belle’s free hand, peeling away the glove. She pressed at her skin through the bandages. “Healing nicely I see. And you, boy?” She turned to Bae who simply nodded. Despite the many times that Anualt had healed him, Bae has always been a bit shy around her.

 

“Well come on, boy. Let me hear those lungs of yours. Big cough, like this,” and Anualt gave a wet hack that had the three of them leaning away and her chuckling. Obediently Bae coughed. The sound only had a thin rattle through it now.

 

“Good, good. It warms this shriveled old heart, seeing a young’in like you so hearty.”

 

Lady Belle snorted. “Of course. Which is why you chose to haggle for the medicine he needed.”

 

“Of course is right.” Anualt shuffled forward, poking a black nailed finger at Lady Belle’s chest. “Nothing in life is free, child. Even this halfwit knows that.”

 

“My Papa is _not_ a halfwit.” Apparently shyness didn’t impeded Bae’s need to defend him and Rumpelstiltskin tugged at his hair warningly.

 

“Oh no? Then tell me, spinner. What did you learn when I healed your boy’s leg?”

 

Rumpelstiltskin shivered. Seven years past and Bae had been six. Already playing his beloved Knights and Dragons he’d climbed the highest tree where they let the sheep graze, nearly two huts high. Pretending to duel the beast amidst the branches he’d swung his sword… and slipped. The bone of his left leg had cracked straight through and Rumpelstiltskin knew, with just one look at the twisted limb, that it would never heal well on his own. Bae would limp—just like him. So Rumpelstiltskin had rushed to Anualt, unheeding of the consequences. He hadn’t even been able to carry Bae to her and, crying, he’d been forced to leave him under the tree. Rumpelstiltskin sometimes still had nightmares about those screams.

 

But Anualt had magic. Not much by any stretch of the imagination, but enough for one leg. She’d hobbled back to cast the spell that had straightened Bae’s leg and as she did she’d told him—

 

“All magic comes with a price,” Rumpelstiltskin whispered.

 

“Yes.” To his surprise it was Lady Belle who answered. She was staring at him like he’d said something astounding, and Rumpelstiltskin squirmed. He was only repeating her words.

 

“Understand, M’lady? No magic here,” Anualt flicked her wrist towards their injuries, dismissive. “Just good old herbs and skill, but _nothing_ comes free, least of all that which heals. Your spinner wanted my wares and I wanted you safe. God knows why, you ungrateful thing.” She tilted her head, considering. “I could have demanded a lot more, you know.”

 

“Yes, perhaps you could have.” Lady Belle shook herself as if coming out of a daze. “Out of curiosity, what was the price for Bae’s leg?” She looked towards Bae who nodded at his Papa’s crutch.

 

“My own leg,” Rumpelstiltskin said, and then immediately rushed to reassure at Lady’s Belle look of horror. “No, no. That’s not to say… Anualt didn’t do this.” The woman in question growled and Rumpelstiltskin flushed, hurrying on. “It’s just that, magic likes equality. Yes?” A grunt of semi-approval. “Yes. In this case, a leg for a leg. Anualt healed Bae’s, but she will do nothing to ease the pain of mine.” Not that she’d ever helped before Bae’s accident and Rumpelstiltskin had never thought that she would. She’d made her thoughts quite clear on the matter.

 

Lady Belle nodded slowly. “I’ve heard of such things. With magic everything must be… balanced.”

 

Anualt hummed.

 

Rumpelstiltskin breathed deep, allowing the gold to press between his tunic and chest. He wondered what the price of that would be. Hopefully the threat of getting caught was payment enough.

 

As is sensing his thoughts Anualt grinned at his chest. Rumpelstiltskin tried to hold himself still.

 

“You see, M’lady? I’m not quite as evil as you make me out to be.”

 

“Evil?” Lady Belle laughed, a lovely sound amidst all the tension. “I never thought you were _evil_ , Anualt. Hardly. At the very least you’ve a kinder heart than most here. _You_ would have gone after Bae.” Against Rumpelstiltskin Bae jerked in surprise. “And you are actually speaking to us, in something other than whispers and insults.” Lady Belle’s voice was as dry as tanned leather. “There is, however, always room for more kindness. You could, for instance, do us the kindness of allowing us to get on with our shopping.” The words were serious, but still contained enough teasing that Anualt smiled, not a smirk or a grin but an honest, open smile. Rumpelstiltskin stared.

 

“Aye, M’lady. I can. However, perhaps you’d do me a kindness as well?” Lady Belle tilted her head curiously. “I’m an old, lonely soul and could do with some more company, especially from such a lovely thing as you. How about we continue this little chit chat and let the boys go about their work, hm?” When it looked as if Lady Belle would decline Anualt went on, “Now, now, child. I know you want to be speaking with me as well. You’ve questions, don’t you?”

 

“… Perhaps.” She acknowledged.

 

“Lady Belle?” Rumpelstiltskin hardly knew what was happening anymore, but he did know that he didn’t want her leaving his side. Lady Belle’s arm was warm and he was selfish.

 

Bae was of a similar mind.

 

“You’re leaving?” He pouted with a ferocity that Rumpelstiltskin hadn’t seen since he was a toddler and was told he couldn’t wander beyond the first tree line. “You promised to let me introduce you to Dolin!”

 

“And you will, Bae. I’ll only be gone for a bit and then you can introduce me to whomever you’d like.” Lady Belle seemed aware that Dolin was probably the _only_ one who would accept her introduction, but she would never say such a thing in front of Bae. “You mentioned something about him giving sweet rolls to strangers?”

 

“Yeah!” Bae’s excitement shone brighter than the winter sun, encouraging him to hop and rock all three of them. It was so rare that Bae got to taste anything sweet and even the possibility of a glazed roll was cause for joy. Rumpelstiltskin knew that if he didn’t already love Lady Belle he could easily come to, if only for the happiness she brought to his son.

 

“Then I’ll be _sure_ to meet Dolin.” Lady Belle dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper and pulled out a wink. “After all, treats like that should always be shared.”

 

“You’re sure?” Rumpelstiltskin wasn’t talking about sharing sweet rolls.

 

“I’m sure.”

 

“You’ll… be okay?” He ignored Anualt’s snort and her grumbled inquiries about what he could possibly do on her behalf. Rumpelstiltskin knew she was right, but asking seemed like the… gentlemanly thing to do.

 

Lady Belle agreed, giving his arm a grateful squeeze. “I’ll be fine, Rum. Really, I should be asking _you_ that.” A gentle finger came up to brush at the puffiness under his eyes and he sighed. Only Anualt’s curious gaze kept Rumpelstiltskin from stepping into her arms again. It was getting harder to remind himself that Lady Belle deserved a prince when she kept touching a spinner with equal tenderness. “You alright with me leaving for a bit?” she asked.

 

“Of course, Lady Belle. We’ll… keep by Dolin until you return. There.” Rumpelstiltskin pointed towards the heavy-set man, garbed in an apron and blue cap. “Take your time but… hurry back?”

 

She laughed at his hopeful, sheepish expression. “I’ll do my best to oblige such a contradiction. Bae? Watch your Papa.” He straightened, only half mocking in his seriousness. “Anualt?”

 

The old woman beckoned Lady Belle towards an undisturbed patch of snow, well away from the crowd. She shuffled off without a backward glance and for a moment the three were left alone. With a sweet smile Lady Belle rose on tiptoes to brush a kiss against his cheek.

 

Leaving him swaying Lady Belle followed after Anualt. It was the first time in over an hour that she’d completely stopped touching him and the absence left Rumpelstiltskin cold.

 

His cheek, however, burned.


	10. The Conversation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all didn't think I'd let Christmas Day pass without an update, did you? ;) 
> 
> HAPPY HOLIDAYS!

Belle left Rumpelstiltskin reluctantly. As her fingers pulled away from him they ached, sharp pangs that had nothing to do with the cold and how vulnerable her skin was now that Anualt had removed her glove. Belle re-donned the wool, conscious of who had given it to her and, most likely, who had spun the yarn. She was wrapped in a cloak that didn’t smell like her and at her back was the fading murmur of a voice that was new and familiar in equal measures—and Belle found that impossible combination to be a heady experience. Her thoughts were seeped in versions of Rumpelstiltskin and Belle relied on her fascination with all of them to ease the pieces together, building up a singular and wonderfully contradictory man.

 

The sooner Belle got back, the sooner she could see which Rumpelstiltskin waited for her. Not the Deal Maker, or the Dark One, or the Sorcerer, or even the man who gifted maids with roses… but the Rumpelstiltskin of two days past was assuredly not the man who let Lady Belle kiss his cheek. Like a summer storm, change was thick on the wind and Belle welcomed it by opening her mouth and breathing deep.

 

Catching up to Anualt was no hardship, though dodging her pointed looks was another matter entirely. The silent accusations were launched and Belle was forced to guard herself with silence until, with an amused huff, Anualt turned her attention to the arduous task of walking. She never seemed to lift her feet, choosing instead to plow ahead like the stubborn mule she was. In an acknowledgement of their first meeting Belle offered Anualt her arm. It was slapped away, just as she knew it would be.

 

“Do I look like that damned spinner to you?” she growled. “Bad enough, you two petting each other before every man, woman, and child, but he hasn’t even the decency to do the act proper.” Anualt held up her own arm, clenching her fist until the flesh shook. “Strength, girl! He can’t even offer you that. When a man and a woman walk together the woman does not act as a guide. Utterly backwards, I swear it.”

 

There was a great deal in that speech that Belle could and wished to challenge, and with such distasteful opinions worming their way into her ears she could only regretfully acknowledge that she was truly in the _past._ It was not only Rumpelstiltskin who was fluid. Centuries from now, in her own time, women could indeed act as guides, perhaps not in forcing men’s arms in directions they did not wish to go, but certainly they were able of easing them with gentle pressures that, while not always acknowledged, were generally heeded. Belle could not stand alone in her father’s war room, but she had been able to direct the troops through her barely perceptible hand over his; two who conducted together, but looked like one. Anualt would not understand that the same, invisible balance had been struck in her walk with Rumpelstiltskin.

 

“Strength comes in many forms.” Belle settled on saying.

 

“A useless observation, young’in. A son dangles over the edge of a cliff and his father hasn’t the strength to pull him up. Tell that father of the heart’s strength as he watches his son fall.” Before Belle could pull apart that absurd comparison Anualt gave a dismissive cough. “And really, child.” She grumbled. “ _Rum_?”

 

“You haven’t a fondness for drink?” Belle asked, blinking innocently.

 

“I have as much fondness for drink as I do for a man’s cock. That is, it had best be stiff and leave me reeling.”

 

Belle choked.

 

“Am I hurting your delicate sensibilities, M’lady?” Anualt chuckled.

 

“… Hardly.”

 

“Hmm. I must say though, what I am _not_ fond of is when pretty young ladies deceive themselves. Really, M’lady, it didn’t take long for our dear Rumpelstiltskin to become ‘Rum.’”

 

Belle shrugged as easily as she could. “I suppose it depends on your definition of ‘long.’”

 

“Come now. Two days?”

 

“… Then perhaps it has _felt_ longer than two days.” That at least was a version of the truth. Belle couldn’t really say that she’d known a version of Rumpelstiltskin for any longer.

 

“Even so, names are important M’lady. To change one—”

 

“I’m well aware of the power names hold, Anualt, and the… intimacy of giving a new one. It was a decision made quickly, but not lightly.” Belle had been a bit stunned when the ‘Rumple’ had spilled from her lips, but him handing her the gloves had been like a rare moment back in the Dark Castle, when Rumpelstiltskin slipped up and acted more kindly towards her than he thought was safe. The gesture had doused her with joy at the familiarity, the name being pulled from her… and then there was guilt, shame that Belle could so easily give Rumpelstiltskin’s name to a man who, truly, wasn’t him. Not yet at least. She’d tried ‘Rum’ out of desperation, but the second she’d spoken it aloud Belle knew that she had chosen well. The name fit this Rumpelstiltskin as well as his gloves fit her.

 

Something in Belle’s expression must have hit home, for Anualt gave a sharp, if surprised nod. “Well maybe you do, M’lady. It only reassures me that I was right about you. You’re…”

 

“Different?” Belle supplied. It was certainly the word most often applied to her, second only, perhaps, to ‘beauty.’

 

“Ha! Oh you’re certainly that, child, never doubt it. But no. I was thinking more of… magical.” Belle shivered, causing Anualt to smile wickedly. “And no, M’lady, that wasn’t a compliment on your looks.”

 

They were now far enough from the crowd that the snow they marched through was entirely undisturbed. It was thicker here, more easily soaking through Belle stockings, and she was glad when Anualt finally halted, leaning against the nearest tree. Belle stationed herself alongside the same trunk, next to but not touching Anualt. They gazed in opposite directions and Belle was glad that the old woman wasn’t looking at her. It made saying it all easier.

 

“Magical?” She finally asked.

 

“Aye, magical. I’m not talking about the gold that spinner has hidden against his chest either.”

 

Belle stiffened.

 

“You know about that? How?”

 

“Oh, I’m not much to speak of, M’lady, but I have my ways.” Anualt lifted a twisted hand and twirled it a bit, causing some of the snow about them to scatter unnaturally. The bit of magic was impressive enough, but it was the gesture that caught Belle’s breath, familiar in the turning wrist and fluttering fingers. For the first time it occurred to her that perhaps Rumpelstiltskin waved his hands just as much for the magic as for the performance.

 

Anualt continued to move the snow just subtly enough that anyone at a distance would think it the wind. “It’s truly not much,” she said again, “but the people here find it impressive. Really though, they’re impressed by the stars at night and the sun at dawn. A flock of geese squawking at whatever passes them by.” Anualt didn’t sound terribly disappointed by this though. She gazed out at the market, almost fondly. “I know enough magic for a bit of healing. Common sicknesses, broken bones like with the spinner’s boy, but I can’t do it often. Best to rely on what our Mother provides us with.” She hefted the basket of herbs. “It’s paltry magic, M’lady. Hardly worth mentioning, but I do know enough of the craft to smell it on a man… or a woman. You made that gold? Because I’ll tell you, M’lady, I’ll take my fist to his head if that spinner’s been holding out on me.”

 

Belle chuckled a little. Some of the snow Anualt’s spell had animated drifted past her face and Belle fluttered a hand through it. Her glove came away spotted with white.

 

“Yes.” She admitted. “Can I trust that you’ll keep this between us?”

 

Anualt snorted. “Don’t insult me, child. The gods only know what you’d have to fear from me, with magic like that.” But Belle was already shaking her head.

 

“It’s all I can do. And even that much was difficult. I’m not born to magic.”

 

Perhaps it was foolishness to admit such to Anualt, but Belle sensed no true hostility from her. Yes, she had been hard on Rumpelstiltskin in her own way, but she’d also been the only one to encourage her to go after Bae. She truly believed that, had Anualt been younger, she would have gone in too.

 

“Humph.” Anualt growled skeptically. “Don’t know about that, M’lady. If all who dabbled in magic could spin gold…” she laughed at the imagined chaos.

 

“I know. Truly though, my skill is no more developed than yours. Far less actually, for I can heal no one.” Belle smiled a little. She might save her Rumpelstiltskin a great deal of frustration if she could heal the minor injuries she tended to pick up while cleaning. Belle would bet the whole of the Dark Castle’s library that when Rumpelstiltskin earned the title of most powerful sorcerer he hadn’t imagined that he’d be using that power on kitchen burns and twisted ankles. Belle shrugged, happy in her memories. “I had a good teacher.”

 

“Indeed.” Anualt noticed the change in her mood, peeking around to see her. “That still doesn’t explain things, M’lady. Not by half. You make gold—even if only a little—and instead of using it to escape our wretched village you give it to the spinner. Why?”

 

“He’s my friend.” She said.

 

“He’s your lover.”

 

Belle sucked in a breath at the accusation, her head smacking hard against the tree. Anualt hushed her.

 

“Not literally, girl.” She said. “Not yet at least. I can tell those things too.” Her gaze traveled from Belle’s breasts to her privates and Belle blushed furiously. “A blind man could see that our spinner has the sickness for you. He follows you like he’s the runt of a litter and you’re the one master he doesn’t expect a kick from. It’s a sad love, M’lady, but a love nonetheless.” Belle opened her mouth. Her embarrassment was quickly turning to anger, but Anualt hushed her once more. “The more interesting question is how a pretty and educated thing like yourself falls for _him_.”

 

Anualt hobbled around the tree until she was right in front of Belle, her old hands brushing against her skirts. It was nearly as intimate an embrace as the ones she’d shared with Rumpelstiltskin, but here Belle found herself leaning away. It wasn’t that she was scared of Anualt, only wary of what she might succeed in prying from her.

 

“Rumpelstiltskin is a man deserving of love.” Belle hissed, arching her neck out like a cat. To her surprise, Anualt nodded.

 

“You think me that cruel, M’lady? Of course the boy deserves love, fool that he is. He’s done things that no one in this village—least of all me—will excuse, but unlike those young’ins back there I know that one mistake in life, even the most selfish, doesn’t equal endless pain. Not like what they’ve given him.” Anualt’s voice softened, some of the gravel falling away. “I’m not condemning your love, M’lady. Don’t understand it, but it’s not my place to judge the likes of you. What I meant was, how does a pretty and educated thing like you fall for a crippled spinner _so fast_?” When Belle was quiet Anualt raised a bushy eyebrow. “The nobility aren’t exactly known for their generous spirits.”

 

Belle thought back to her first week in the Dark Castle, when Rumpelstiltskin was locking her in a dungeon and forcing her to do labor that she’d been told all her life was beneath her. She liked to believe that her sacrifice to save her own village put her above the more cold hearted princesses of her fairy tales, but Belle would be lying if she said she hadn’t felt something akin to resentment in the beginning. In a similar manner, she liked to believe that, had she met this Rumpelstiltskin first, she would have treated him with the same decency every being deserved. But considered him worthy of courting her? Perhaps not.

 

“No.” Belle admitted.

 

“An odd attraction like yours? These things take time.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Then perhaps my old brain has gone the way of porridge, M’lady, but that says to me you’ve known our spinner longer than two days.”

 

Belle closed her eyes, not wanting to look at Anualt anymore. Her gaze was serious and teasing and kind and far, far more knowledgeable than a village hag’s should be. Belle knew it would be folly to lie to her, but that didn’t make this conversation any easier.

 

“Yes,” she finally whispered.

 

“Oh ho. Now we’re getting somewhere.” Anualt clapped her hands in a parody of applause, the motion jarring another series of coughs out of her. “See, that’s fascinating, M’lady, because I’ve known Rumpelstiltskin all his life.” Belle nodded, not at all surprised by that. “I helped birth the boy—tiny little thing he was, too early—I was there when his mother bled out and later when his father disappeared. Gone the way of all drunks and gamblers I’d imagine.” Belle shivered. “I gave Milah Sundale flowers for pleasure, for there was obviously no love between the two, but the spinner was still good for one duty at least and years later I was there for the younger spinner’s birth.” Anualt came even closer, leaning in with a smell of earth and moths. “I was there when he earned the name coward and if the gods will it I’ll be there for more times to come, but in _all_ that time, M’lady, I’ve never once seen you.” She patted Belle’s cheek. “Yet you know him.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“It’s… complicated.”

 

With a wet laugh Anualt turned and tucked herself beneath Belle’s arm. The movement was assertive, almost hostile, but Belle allowed it for she could feel how the old woman’s body shook with cold. Anualt hummed as her gloved hands wrapped protectively against the back of her neck.

 

“My dear stupid girl, is there anything about this situation that’s _not_ complicated?”

 

Belle laughed. “You may have a point there.”

 

“You’re damn right I have a point. Come now, spill. You get as old as I am nothing much entertains you anymore, but I am _very_ interested in how a woman can both know a man for two days _and_ long enough to find love. Very interesting that.”

 

“Well it’s not years,” Belle murmured. “And I don’t quite know if it’s love…” she ignored the thump of Anualt’s fist against her side. “Tell me, what do you know of Time?”

 

“That he’s cruel,” she said promptly and then quieted. “Though I suspect that’s not what you mean, child.”

 

“No. That actually sums it up quite well.” Belle laughed again, knocking her head lightly against the tree. “You’re more right than you know, Anualt. Right down to his sex.”

 

The old woman stiffened against her, even her shivers halting. Belle felt the air enter her lungs and then pause. She continued, but her arm tightened comfortingly around Anualt’s shoulders.

 

“I… can’t describe him. Not in any way that would make sense. He has a face that’s old and young and surprisingly human… he has features, but I can no longer recall what they were. He wore a strange cloak though.” Belle supplied the last bit sheepishly.

 

“The gods are not meant to be described M’lady. I suggest you stop trying.” Anualt’s voice had curdled, seeped in a great deal more respect.

 

“You believe me then?”

 

“Don’t insult me, girl! Only a fool would lie about such things, and you are no fool. Don’t treat me as one either.”

 

“Of course. My apologies.” Belle murmured. Was it so surprising that she would desire assurances that her story was believed? After all, most would laugh at her description of Time—and not because it was so lacking. Then again, Anualt was not most people. It was why Belle had decided to speak to her in the first place.

 

“You’ve seen him then?” Anualt asked. The fear and awe were colored by a deep curiosity. “I’ve heard stories, M’lady. Young girls who stumble across beings of power, or who draw them in with their beauty.” The old body was still hunched into the warmth of Belle’s side, but she knew Anualt was leering at her regardless. Belle rolled her eyes.

 

“Let me guess, I’m pretty enough for it?”

 

“Indeed, girl.” Anualt cackled. “I’m old—”

 

“So you’ve said.”

 

“—but don’t judge me on my pleasures. I like pretty things.”

 

Anualt and Rumpelstiltskin had that in common. It’s a wonder they didn’t get along better. Belle would have loved to introduce Anualt to the Dark One, with his eye-catching outfits and his castle of trinkets, trinkets that hummed with power when you walked by. Belle had been a trinket too… at least in the beginning. Another commonality then.

 

Breaking through the numbness of the cold, Belle felt fingers tease a curl out from under her hood. Anualt twirled it contemplatively. “You remind me of Y’vain,” she said.

 

“Y’vain?”

 

“An old story, M’lady.” Anualt nodded, gathering her words. “Her beauty drew the attention of a wood imp, pity for her, and he wooed Y’vain with lyrical words and an enchantment that hid his monstrosity. He lured her into a trap, tricked her into granting her permission, that he might touch her luxurious hair, yards and yards of it. As he wove blossoms into the locks the imp stole away her youth and the beauty was a beauty no more.”

 

“He took it from a tree,” Belle said, thinking of the book Rumpelstiltskin had showed her that first day in the library, the one with the gorgeous and frightening illustration. In her imagination Belle curtseyed before Time, a silent acknowledgement of the endless crisscrossing strings that bound her world to this one. Belle knew that she’d never again turn her nose up at the meanings people found in mere “coincidences.”

 

“A tree?” Anualt shrugged. “I heard it was a clear pool dotted with water lilies, perfect for enticing maidens. It hardly matters.”

 

“So I’m Y’vain? You think me stupid enough to fall for such a trick?”

 

“Hardly. I think you’re pretty enough to invite the trick. Although…” A series of amused coughs came from beneath Belle’s arm. “Is your being here the trick, girl?”

 

Belle could feel her lips twisting and then cracking in the wind.

 

“Oh, mayhap. But Time didn’t throw me here because of my looks,” she drawled.

 

“Ah. So he _did_ displace you.”

 

Silence descended, as thick as the snow, and Belle swallowed against the pressure of it. She had freely admitted to an encounter with Time, but such an admission could imply anything, even something as fleeting as that first look between Y’vain and her imp—truly, nothing at all. To spot a god was one thing, to serve and converse and be changed by a god was something else entirely. Something frightening.

 

Yet Annual was not pulling away, nor crying out at some perceived wickedness. If anything, she burrowed closer, stomping her feet and cursing the cold as soundly as any pirate. Her growls became so pronounced that Belle was half convinced she’d misheard, and Anualt really had no understanding of her situation. That is, until she paused in her cursing long enough to say,

 

“Traveling, huh?” Anualt pulled childishly at Belle’s cloak until she had more to wrap about her. “You’re from the future then?”

 

“Ah… I could be from the past.” The suggestion sounded feeble even to Belle’s ears.

 

“Not likely, girl. You’re a stubborn thing, and I always knew our sex would become even more stubborn with time.” Belle flushed as Anualt cackled.

 

“You’re taking this very well,” she murmured.

 

“You’d rather I call you a liar?”

 

“No.”

 

“Well then.”

 

Anualt plucked at Belle’s skirts in apology. Her voice gentled. “That explains the spinner then, doesn’t it, M’lady? You know him, long from now, and found pleasure in his company.” Belle nodded, a little shaky. “Not too long though, I’d wager. After all, our spinner is no spring chick and he can’t have developed too many more wrinkles if he managed to catch your eye.” Anualt resumed her chuckling until she felt Belle stiffening against her. With limbs like iron Belle winced as Anualt abruptly pulled away from her, the sudden eye contact jarring after nothing but quiet, peaceful snow in her vision.

 

No matter her age or the amount of magic she may have seen in her life, Belle was still amazed that Anualt had accepted these impossibilities with nary a complaint. Yet now her withered features held suspicion and fear and every emotion that Belle had wanted to avoid.

 

“What aren’t you telling me, girl?” She demanded. “Traveling through time… that’s one thing. I’ve heard stories about that, rare though it is. But you…” her eyes narrowed into sharp slits. “There’s something else about you. Speak.”

 

“I’m… I’m from farther along in time then you might imagine.” Belle whispered. For some odd reason she felt shame at the admission and her head sunk without her consciously willing it to. Perhaps it was the shame of difference, for looking down Belle could see with clarity that although she and Anualt wore the same kind of thinning boots, Anualt’s fit in a manner that hers never would, and it had nothing to do with their size. Belle didn’t belong here.

 

“How long?” Anualt asked, but Belle shook her head. “Come now, M’lady.” Two twisted hands snuck bravely out of their warm hideaway to grasp hers. “I knew the moment I saw you that there was… difference.” Belle tried to pull back, but Anualt just tightened her hold. “No, no. You’re young indeed if you think that’s a bad thing. All those men, they saw only a girl of wealth, but I saw _magic._ Literal—” Anualt’s nail rose to scrape against the center of Belle’s forehead, a spot that she knew, from Rumpelstiltskin’s fleeting lectures on magic, was a place of power and balance. She leaned into the touch as Anualt smiled. “The literal, young’in, for you’ve surrounded yourself with magic, but also the more mysterious.” The nail moved to tap over Belle’s heart. “You think I normally send young girls into fires? Children rescuing children? Oh no. I could see the magic around you, not only the touch of someone watching over you, but also courage, purity, love. They’re types of magic in and over themselves. I knew you’d come out and that you’d have the boy with you, Belle.”

 

Belle looked up, as startled by the use of her name as she was by the kind words.

 

“So how long?” Anualt asked.

 

“I… I was born during the reign of Queen Regina, the Evil Queen. Usurper of Snow White.”

 

“That means nothing to me, child. Though I’ll admit I don’t like the sound of it.”

 

Belle took a deep breath, looking Anualt square in the eyes. “I was also born during the Seventh Ogre War.”

 

“Sev—?”

 

Belle started forward, latching onto Anualt’s shoulders as she began to reel. Though to her credit the old woman recovered quickly. She planted her feet in the snow and her hands, rather than pushing Belle’s aside, fell atop them and clamped like vices.

 

“Good gods, girl!” She cried. Belle was thankful for the wind. It carried Anualt’s voice away before the other villagers could catch it. “Seventh?” She breathed and swallowed hard. “I haven’t a frog’s warted clue which is worse, M’lady: the image of you thrown so far off your course, decades into the past, or one where our land faces seven wars against those beasts in a mere generation—or less! How would any survive it?” Anualt’s eyes were wide and trembling.

 

“It’s the former,” Belle admitted and watched as her friend’s whole body rocked. Her voice softened. “You saw me that day, Anualt. It wasn’t only the horror of finding myself in a new time that threw me off balance. You’ve watched me since. Tell me, do I seem like a woman who knows her way around this village?”

 

“No.”

 

“You said yourself that Rumpelstiltskin couldn’t have been much older to have caught my eye. So when do we meet? In five years? Ten? Do you believe much of anything would have changed in that time?”

 

“No,” she said again.

 

“Then how come I’ve never seen this place before?” Belle asked, eyes hard. Anualt stared back just as determinedly. “You’ve already accepted a great deal of the impossible…”

 

A great whoosh of air left Anualt’s body. “Fine then, M’lady. There are three options so far as I see them: either you have a taste for man flesh far past its prime,” she chuckled at Belle’s scowl. “The spinner decides to leave us in peace sometime in the very near future—something I highly doubt. The boy has trouble leaving his front step—or,” and here Anualt’s face lost its mirth, softening to show every crease. “Or, M’lady, Rumpelstiltskin somehow manages to live a sight longer than me.”

 

Grimly, Belle nodded. “Some three hundred years by my estimate,” she said.

 

“Gods’ preserve us.” For the first and only time Belle watched as Anualt warded herself against evil. Suddenly, her eyes sharpened. “Do you know what he is, girl?”

 

“He’s a man, Anualt. A man of flesh and blood, as sure as you and I.” Belle held out her hand, relieved when Anualt took it. “I—I admit that I don’t know how he becomes what he… becomes. That’s not a story that he’s shared with me, but in this moment he is nothing but a man. I think… I think that’s one of the reasons I’m here. To understand that.”

 

Anualt turned back towards the market, gaze shifting here and there as if she expected Rumpel to appear with sudden, unexpected strength. Belle stifled a giggle at an unwanted image: her Rumpelstiltskin, popping up in a puff of smoke, scaring poor Anualt half to death. Her laughter died, however, at the digits tightening in hers.

 

“He taught you to spin the gold.” Anualt said. Stated.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Magic.” She murmured. Her hand dug deep. “No others practice it here. If he truly delves into the art later… much later… well. It started here then. That boy’s first taste of magic came from watching me.”

 

“… Yes.”

 

“Then may the gods help you.” Anualt turned and for the first time Belle saw true fear in that old face. “And may the gods punish me. A coward is bad enough, M’lady. A coward with access to magic is something no world needs.”


	11. The Bread

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! I hope you all had an amazing holiday. As always, thank you SO much for the lovely reviews. Things will be picking up a bit after this chapter (only six more to go!) so you'll get to experience my awful attempts at plot XD 
> 
> Enjoy!

Rumpelstiltskin was keenly feeling the absence of Lady Belle’s hand in his. More so because Dolin’s was a rather poor substitute.

 

“Yer needin lotion,” he grumbled happily, plucking at Rumpelstiltskin’s fingers. “I made a cake once, real beauty of a thing, sold it to an ever more beautiful thing—if you’re following me.” Dolin winked. “Girlie gave me a pot along with her coin, filled with what she called lotion—looked more like the evidence of men’s pleasure to me—but hell and high water, it worked! Hands felt smooth as an asses’ bottom for weeks. Didn’t crack none when I kneaded the bread either.” Dolin demonstrated said kneading against Rumpelstiltskin’s palm. He pulled his hand back sharply. “You should try some.”

 

“And how would I go about affording something like lotion?” Rumpelstiltskin sighed. Dolin only blinked at him. He was beginning to regret promising Lady Belle that he would wait by the bread maker. Sometimes Rumpelstiltskin thought that having no one speak with him was a blessing.

 

“Maybe Belle knows about lotion,” Bae piped up. He stuck his nose up over the table, eyeing the food hungrily. Each loaf was wrapped in cloth and pressed between hot stones to ward off freezing, but the smell was still strong. Dolin turned to blink at Bae instead, absently smacking away his wandering hand.

 

“What’s this about a bell now, boy?”

 

“No, Dolin. _Belle._ She’s—”

 

“Here.” Rumpelstiltskin breathed. Indeed she was, or almost at least. He could just make her out across the field, a path to her forming as the villagers gave her a wide berth. She still walked arm in arm with Anualt and never had Rumpelstiltskin felt such jealousy for someone nearly three times his age.

 

Lady Belle though… she was radiant, as always. Pink of cheek and lithe of limb. One would never imagine that she was recovering from burns or was wading through deep snow, and again Rumpelstiltskin questioned if she was fully human. Surely there was at least a bit of faerie somewhere in her blood.

 

When she was just steps away he extended his hand, hardly thinking of whether he had that right or not. Rumpelstiltskin simply, instinctually reached for her—

 

But Bae snatched her up first.

 

“Belle!” he cried. “You were gone so long!” Lady Belle laughed at Bae’s accusation but it sounded strained to Rumpelstiltskin’s ears. He immediately set his sights on Anualt, wondering what had been spoken to put his lady so ill at ease.

 

“Well met.” He ventured.

 

“That remains to be seen, spinner.”

 

Rumpelstiltskin recoiled at the coldness there. Far more ice was coating Anualt’s words than what crunched beneath his boots. She hadn’t spoken to him in such a way since he’d first returned home, blinded with pain, and dared to ask for something to sooth it. Reeling, Rumpelstiltskin extended his hand in an entirely different manner than he’d done with Lady Belle… and it was ignored.

 

“Anualt—”

 

“No, boy. I will not speak to you. Not today.”

 

Dolin gaped behind them and Bae frowned fiercely at the crone. Only Lady Belle appeared resigned. Rumpelstiltskin turned to her, lost, but she only shook her head.

 

Not now.

 

Anualt shied from him. Disgust painting her features and… fear? No. That was utterly absurd, and really the expression flew from her face too quick for Rumpelstiltskin to truly catch. She turned to Lady Belle.

 

“Use it if you must,” Anualt ordered. She nodded to a small pouch that Rumpelstiltskin only now realized hung from Lady Belle’s left wrist. It was worn, clearly a relic of the medicine woman’s. Why it was adorning his lady’s wrist though…

 

“I won’t.” Lady Belle snapped.

 

“You might.”

 

Nothing else was said. Anualt turned and hurried off as if she feared unable to keep the last word. Back stooped, her figure disappeared amongst the crowd. Soon she was lost from sight entirely, only a hacking cough to be heard.

 

“Give her time,” Lady Belle murmured. Her hand returned to his arm, warm and weighted. The relief of having it there again nearly made Rumpelstiltskin forget Anualt’s strange words. And yet…

 

“Lady Belle, what—?”

 

“Later,” she insisted and slipped the pouch beneath her coat, away from Bae’s curious eyes.

 

A throat cleared behind them.

 

“Oh!” Lady Belle jumped, hair flying out behind her. “I’m so sorry! I’ve been incredibly rude…”

 

“Rude? You? Never. Don’t think that’s even real possible, miss.” Dolin said. He smiled widely and pointed a fat finger at Rumpelstiltskin. “He’s being the rude one I’d wager. Ain’t a gentlemen supposed to introduce his lady?”

 

Rumpelstiltskin fiddled with his staff, hunched. “She’s not my… never mind. This is Lady Belle, Dolin.”

 

“It’s a pleasure,” Lady Belle said. She held out a hand to shake but Dolin raised his own cracked and floured hands regretfully.

 

“None of that now, miss. Wouldn’t want to be messing up your pretty gloves.”

 

“Pretty…?” Lady Belle looked down at her hands and Rumpelstiltskin felt a cold sweep through him that had nothing to do with the weather. It was no wonder she was confused. Those gloves were terribly frayed, even by his village’s standards. There was nothing about them that could be termed ‘pretty.’

 

“Aye.” Dolin plowed ahead, oblivious. He kept winking exaggeratedly. “Real pretty. The best tokens are after all. Our spinner must consider you something special if he’s letting you wear his wife’s things.”

 

“Wife…?”

 

“ _Dolin._ ”

 

Whatever hope Rumpelstiltskin had gathered from their earlier embrace plummeted down through his feet. He’d never consciously tried to keep the fact that they’d been Milah’s gloves from Belle—she’d simply needed a pair and they’d been the only ones available—but now the idea seemed foolish at best; highly insulting at worst. What man gave a disloyal wife’s cast-offs to a lady? What man gave such a thing to _Lady Belle_? Suddenly, the worn yarn against her healing hands sickened him.

 

To his surprise though, Lady Belle turned to Bae.

 

“These were your mother’s?” She asked. He nodded softly. “And you don’t mind me wearing them, do you?”

 

“No.” Bae kicked a bit of snow, a childish action he only indulged in when he felt embarrassed. “I mean, mama’s gone and you’re here, so I’d be stupid for you not to use them, right? Besides I… I think you like them more. Papa made them for mama but… they look nice on you too.”

 

“I see.” Lady Belle hesitated. “I’ll take them off if you wish.”

 

“No,” Bae said decisively.

 

“Rum?” Lady Belle questioned and he ducked his head.

 

“I gave them to you,” he murmured.

 

“Right,” and she tugged the gloves more securely over her wrists. Dolin watched it all, grinning.

 

“Like I said, something special you are.” He began pulling wrapped packages from a satchel at his feet. “You’re the stranger everyone’s been talkin’ bout then. ‘Course you are. I know everyone in the village and everyone from every other village that’s coming this way on market day. I like strangers. They’ve always got the best stories. You know any good stories, miss?”

 

“Oh, I know one or two,” Lady Belle said, a bit of humor sneaking back into her voice.

 

“Well then, you’ve gotta give an old man that one or two sometimes. Okay? Until then…” With a cry of success Dolin snatched up a package of blue cloth. Underneath the food was wrapped in a kind of plastic and inside was a sweet roll. The glazed sugar on top shined under the winter’s sun and Rumpelstiltskin could smell the cinnamon that was hidden inside. Bae fairly thrummed with excitement beside him.

 

The smell that had been tantalizing Rumpelstiltskin for nigh twenty minutes now hit them with an intensity that made his mouth water as Dolin finished unwrapping the treat. Even Lady Belle rocked forward, though Rumpelstiltskin was sure she’d tasted more sweets in her life than he’d ever taste in his. The women he’d grown up around were stick thin in their beauty, a far cry from Lady Belle’s strong arms and hips. When she leaned on her toes Rumpelstiltskin admired these aspects of her physicality (among others) and promptly bit his tongue in punishment.

 

“That looks amazing!” Lady Belle gushed. Even knowing beforehand from Bae’s constant chatter that she’d be receiving a roll, she went bright-eyed with pleasure.

 

“And it’s yours, Miss, if you’re willing to take it from the likes of me.”

 

“I’ll take it gladly, Dolin. Later though, I think.”

 

“Later!” Bae cried.

 

“Certainly. There’s still work to be done, correct? Wouldn’t it be better to save the treat for when we’re done?” Bae looked highly dubious of this suggestion but Dolin grinned fiercely.

 

“Well then! Makes sense to my mind,” and he began rewrapping the roll, much to Bae’s extreme distress. “Smart as a whip too, spinner! I thought before that you were the same Miss who’d showed up a few days past.” Dolin chuckled, self-deprecatingly.

 

“Ah…” Lady Belle looked to Rumpelstiltskin, but he could only shrug.

 

“Well I’m a fool for sure,” Dolin continued. “You lot heard about this miss? Running into fires to save some boy! Me my oh my, what a mess. You wouldn’t ever be doing something so silly now would you, Miss Belle?”

 

“Are you being sarcastic?” she demanded and Rumpelstiltskin rushed forward to clasp her sleeve.

 

“Sar-wha now?” Dolin blinked.

 

“Come along,” Rumpelstiltskin murmured, drawing Lady Belle away. He caught the hood of Bae’s cloak with the end of his staff. “We’ll be back in a bit, Dolin.”

 

“Aye! Take your time, spinner.”

 

They left him standing over his bread, laughing about pretty women who knew big, complicated words. When they were far enough away Lady Belle leaned close, her tone incredulous.

 

“Was that a trick?” she whispered. “Can he truly not realize that I’m the one who went after Bae?” Her breath came in little puffs against Rumpelstiltskin’s cheek. It made it terribly difficult to answer her.

 

“You should try not to pay him any mind. Dolin is not known for his… learning.”

 

“I see.” After a few steps of silence Lady Belle nudged him companionably. “Learned or no, I’m pleased to see that someone in this village treats you kindly. In this manner at least he’s a genius.” Lady Belle suddenly dropped her eyes down to her hands. To her gloves, more specifically. “He’s also observant, which is more than I can say for many. I’m… glad he told me, Rum. I didn’t realize these were your wife’s, but I am honored that you’ve given them to me. Thank you.”

 

Rumpelstiltskin could feel his cheeks reddening, and it had nothing to do with the cold. Had it really only been less than an hour ago that Lady Belle had pulled him, unworthy as he was, into her embrace? He didn’t deserve these words on top of that. Especially when Lady Belle knew nothing of Milah. If she had she wouldn’t be so quick to be ‘honored.’ Rumpelstiltskin was just about to brush those words away when Bae planted himself in front of them. It seemed that he was quite through with being ignored.

 

“You didn’t take the bread, Belle.” He accused. Rumpelstiltskin saw a smile tugging at her lips and released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Their unwelcome entrance into market, Lady Belle’s oddly tense return from speaking with Anualt… she deserved to smile. At least a little.

 

“I did,” she answered promptly. Lady Belle rushed forward and kicked up a bit of snow, forcing Bae to squeal and dodge away. “Didn’t you hear me, silly? You want to eat glorious food like that _after_ you’ve done your chores!”

 

“Nooooo,” he moaned. “I’ll be cold then!”

 

“You know better, Bae.” Rumpelstiltskin chided. Watching Lady Belle tease his son, he badly wanted to join in the merriment with them, even if it was only for a moment. “Dolin has his own ways of keeping bread warm. Even on days such as today.” He mournfully drew his crutch further through the snow.

 

“But I was hungry!” Bae retaliated, shoveling snow at Lady Belle until she squawked. The hem of her dress now contained a miniature sea, complete with icebergs. “You need to make it up to me, Belle.”

 

“Oh do I?”

 

“Yes! Double the reading lessons.”

 

“My, my.” Lady Belle turned to Rumpelstiltskin, her cheeks straining with cold and grins. “Your son drives a hard bargain.”

 

“Indeed. He’s the dealer in this family,” Rumpelstiltskin intoned solemnly. “I merely spin the wool.”

 

“That’s right! Double reading lessens _and_ you have to tell me what ‘sarcism’ means. Then I can tell Dolin that I know stuff he doesn’t.”

 

“You’ll do not such thing,” Lady Belle snagged Bae by his cloak and proceeded to stuff a handful of snow down his shirt. His screams turned many a head—even more than they got on their own—but Rumpelstiltskin couldn’t bring himself to care. He laughed along with them.

 

“It’s _sarcasm_ , my young pupil, and you must always promise to teach others the things you learn, not lord it over them. Understand?” Lady Belle pushed more ice against his skin.

 

“Yes! Yes!”

 

“You’re suuuure you understand?”

 

“Yes, Belle! Stop!” Bae scrambled away, only to pick up his own handful of snow. “Reading,” he panted. “ _Sarcasm._ And—and—”

 

“More!?”

 

“Yes, more.” Grinning, Bae pointed to Lady Belle’s side. “And you have to tell me what’s in that pouch!”

 

Lady Belle’s grin suddenly dropped.

 

“No,” she stated, causing Bae to blink in shock. Rumpelstiltskin turned to her as well, his breath stuttering to a halt.

 

“Bae.” Lady Belle said. “Come here.” And he came, dropping his snow and jogging over with all the solemnity a young boy could muster. Unmindful of her skirts Lady Belle dropped to her knees and took him by the shoulders. She pulled her cloak aside just enough to show the pouch before it was hidden away once more.

 

“This is not a toy,” Lady Belle said, voice stern. “Nor is it anything that concerns you. You must promise me, Bae, that you will not go snooping. What Anualt has given me is dangerous and I will not have you prying at it due to idle curiosity. Other boys your age might, but you’re smarter than that. I know you are. If you do go against me in this then I will be very, very angry.”

 

Rumpelstiltskin trembled slightly at hearing her speak so. He could hardly imagine kind, gentle Lady Belle being truly angry… and yet, hadn’t he witnessed such an impossibility just an hour before? The old woman who’d spit at him; she’d drawn up Lady Belle’s ire and stoked it like a well built fire. Rumpelstiltskin would wager his one good leg that she would never turn such ferocity upon Bae, but the threat of it seemed to be enough. His boy’s lips trembled and for the first time Rumpelstiltskin felt no need to go and comfort him. He trusted Lady Belle. If that pouch was as dangerous as she claimed then this was something Bae needed to understand.

 

“Yes, Belle,” his son whispered.

 

“You promise me, Bae?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Because if you break this promise I will not continue teaching you to read.”

 

That threat hit harder than the others and Bae nodded franticly, a few tears sneaking down his cheeks.

 

“There, there.” Lady Belle brushed them away with her sleeve. “I didn’t meant to upset you, Bae, but this is important. Come now, it’s alright. I have your promise now and I trust that you’ll keep it.” Lady Belle smiled at him. “You know what else?”

 

“W-what?” Bae hiccupped.

 

“Sarcasm. Sarcasm is saying one thing but meaning the opposite, generally in a mean way. That’s why I got a little frustrated with Dolin when I thought he was being sarcastic.” Lady Belle’s words, though informative, had a soothing undertone.

 

“Like mean teasing?”

 

“Yes, a lot like that. Now when we go back to get your sweet roll you can explain that to Dolin. Okay?”

 

Bae nodded. Tiredly he slipped his hand into Belle’s and cuddled close. She wrapped her other arm around his shoulder, thus leaving Rumpelstiltskin to walk on his own. He hardly regretted it in this instance though.

 

“C’mon, Bae.” He said. “You can help me pick out the meat.”

 

Their progression through the snow was a slow but steady one. Rumpelstiltskin took the time—and the space—for some much needed centering. There had been much, too much, within the last few hours, within the last few days if he was being truthful. He’d heard stories as a child of beautiful, magical beings that ascended from roaring fires, of creatures that came into the houses of the poor, bestowing on them riches if they had proven themselves to be pure of heart. Rumpelstiltskin could easily imagine Lady Belle as any of these things. She was the nymph who pulled his Bae from the fire… a good sorceress who turned straw into gold. And yet…

 

Rumpelstiltskin’s eyes strayed to the two of them. Lady Belle was guiding his boy through the drifts, hands on his shoulders and a smile on her soft face. Whatever fear she’d stirred up with talk of that pouch had dissipated, hopefully only leaving a healthy respect in its wake. And that’s what made Rumpelstiltskin rethink it all, what kept him from inquiring about the pouch himself, despite his own burning curiosity. More than her literal magic, Lady Belle was giving him things that were far more precious. He’d take her hug and her smile over any pile of gold, no matter how large, and a part of Rumpelstiltskin, even with his pessimism, hoped that she realized that. At the very least he could show her. Lady Belle deserved his silence—his trust—if nothing else. He’d say nothing of the pouch.

 

Gods, he only wished she required the same of him. To tell her his story…

 

“Buying then?”

 

Rumpelstiltskin jerked at the voice, one he hadn’t heard in quite some time. Knott stood behind his counter, a small pile of meat set before him and another meager selection behind, hanging from a makeshift rack. His son Dai stood tending the cuts but he turned at his father’s hail. His eyes caught the three of them and, to Rumpelstiltskin’s surprise, his pallor turned the color of the snow. He gulped, looking specifically between Bae and Belle.

 

A long silence stretched.

 

“Good day, Knott.” Lady Belle finally said. It came out more of a sigh.

 

“Good day, M’lady.”

 

“Belle.”

 

A longer, more uncomfortable silence descended. Certainly no informal address spilled from Knott’s lips. Dai continued to sweat and stare by the meat and Rumpelstiltskin may have been a fool, but he wasn’t a complete dunce, not when the story was standing right before him. He may not have seen the duo for a fortnight at least—beyond Knott ignoring Bae’s greeting—but it was clear that Lady Belle had. When had she been parted from his side? Rarely (a true blessing), for no time at all really… except for during the fire; that moment before they met.

 

Rumpelstiltskin felt something hot and sickly worming its way into his stomach. Who would have been combating the fire the most—that was the true question. Who but a man strong in arm from smith work and his even stronger son, used to cutting up cattle each day? Who then had been at the forefront of the decision to leave Bae to the flames, perhaps even going so far as to try and prevent Lady Belle from entering as she had? Why, Knott and Dai of course.

 

And that was a pretty little dilemma, wasn’t it? Had Rumpelstiltskin been there—had his shameful gait taken him faster than it had—would he have been able to let Lady Belle go? When faced with a nymph appearing before them all, could he have asked, even allowed, for such a being to go after a coward’s son? Could he blame his neighbors for prizing her life over Bae’s?

 

It seemed that Lady Belle blamed them easily enough, if her scowl was anything to go by. She tapped her boot impatiently in the snow and when Knott broke from his spell, leaning slightly over the rickety counter, Lady Belle took Bae more firmly into her arms, protecting him still. Coming out from a trance of his own Rumpelstiltskin moved to copy her movements, trusting her decision and placing a firm—if belated—hand on Bae’s shoulder. Knott frowned sadly at their little unit—whether in regret or pity, Rumpelstiltskin couldn’t tell.

 

Bae for his part was fairly oblivious. He eyed the meat with a wide-eyed, hungry expression, Knott’s earlier slight already forgotten. Catching sight of him, Dai released a nervous laugh.

 

“What?” Bae demanded, chipper and bouncy once more. “Belle made me wait for my sweet roll!”

 

“Did she now?” Knott asked and he stretched like a man twice his age. “I’d best not keep you waiting then, hmm? What’ll you have?” He looked to Lady Belle but she then turned to looked at him. Rumpelstiltskin remembered with a bit of a shock that for all her confident appearance, Lady Belle had little knowledge of these poor, domestic labors.

 

“Just a bit of the mutton,” Rumpelstiltskin whispered. He nodded to the stringiest piece he could see.

 

“And salt,” Lady Belle prompted. “We need some for the—oh.”

 

She backed off as he subtly shook his head. They couldn’t afford that. Not yet at least. Rumpelstiltskin gently touched the gold pressed cold against his chest. Soon though. Impractical as it was, he was tempted to buy a whole pouch of salt then, just to see Lady Belle smile.

 

“—underneath, there you are, son. Grab some of that paper too,” Knott was saying. Rumpelstiltskin looked and his jaw dropped as Dai took down not the thin strip of mutton he’d pointed out, but a far more succulent piece of lamb. It was one of only two cuts there, as the sheep of the village were generally needed to produce wool long before they could be eaten as food. Rumpelstiltskin knew that well. Subsiding on tough mutton ensured that he had a trade.

 

His eyes bugged farther as Knott pulled out small patties of ground cow—where in the heavens had he gotten cow?—and, even more shocking, he produced a container of salt that was kept safely on his own person, right at his belt. As Dai solemnly wrapped the meat Knott took a bit of paper, tore it in two, and divided a good portion of the salt evenly. He tied off each package with a decent length of string.

 

“One for your path, the rest for your food.” He said quietly.

 

“But—but, Knott... I can’t...you know I can’t afford…”

 

Knott wouldn’t meet his eyes. Instead he looked to Lady Belle. Rumpelstiltskin did too… and found her pursing her lips thoughtfully.

 

“Take it,” Knott insisted. He shook the pouch, pushed forward the astounding cuts of meat, and Rumpelstiltskin stumbled back from them both. There were two voices screaming through his otherwise dumbfounded mind: a sneering voice demanding to know what a simple spinner like himself was going to do with such goods (what was he doing with gold stashed in his pocket?) and another voice, thin and reedy, was asking a series of repetitive ‘why’s’—why was Knott doing this? Why him? Why now?

 

The answer lay quite literally at his feet.

 

Bae. His son’s frame was quivering in anticipation of the treats being offered. He wasn’t questioning why. It was a full bodied reaction of the innocent… and it was Rumpelstiltskin’s answer. This was an apology, an admission of guilt. Rumpelstiltskin felt as if he would weep again and this time he didn’t know what the tears would be born of—relief or thankfulness, anger or fear.

 

Shaking now just like his son, Rumpelstiltskin turned to his source of strength: Lady Belle. He wasn’t disappointed. For all their movement she was as still as carved stone. For all his tangled, skittish thoughts hers must have been as clear as finely cut glass. When Lady Belle spoke there was no hesitation; her voice was strong and true.

 

“Thank you, Knott.” She said. Lady Belle’s fine hands accepted the gifts. “This is both kind of you and… greatly appreciated.”

 

Rumpelstiltskin saw lines in Knott and Dai’s shoulders easing away and something in his own chest loosened. If Lady Belle could forgive… well, Rumpelstiltskin didn’t claim to have her heart but who was he to question her judgment?

 

“Thank you,” he repeated, much more softly.

 

Beside him Bae snatched up the treats from Lady Belle. His eyes were wide and thrilled.

 

“Yeah thanks, Knott!” he piped.

 

Knott briefly closed his eyes as if pained. Rumpelstiltskin knew the expression well.

 

“You’re welcome, lad.” A daring hand snuck out to jostle his curls. “Make sure to enjoy them for me, kay?”

 

“Sure!”

 

With Bae’s promise hanging before them, the three turned away. Knott and Dai did not say goodbye.

 

His shameful limp aside, Rumpelstiltskin couldn’t help but note that at least two of them walked as if a weight had been lifted from their shoulders… only to have twice the amount dropped back onto their backs.

 

***

 

“They are both good men.” Lady Belle was reassuring him, not thirty steps later. “From what I understand of your village’s… resources, this apology was a sound one, even if it wasn’t given in words. Not that I’m putting a price on such things,” she rushed to say. Her eyes strayed to Bae, her words were followed by a scowl. “Gods no. I just… I just want you to know that they hesitated, as soon as they knew he was inside. If anyone made their choice out of fear rather than some foolish judgment of your past, it was them, Rum.”

 

He swallowed hard and gave Lady Belle as kind a nod as he could manage. His throat still felt too tight to actually speak. The truth was that guilt—not anger—was roiling through his body. There was a painful sense of falseness settling deep within Rumpelstiltskin’s chest. The fact remained that Knott and Dai owed Bae nothing. He was not their responsibility. Lady Belle charged these men on the basis of their humanity but what was more human than self-preservation? Rumpelstiltskin knew it well.

 

No, he couldn’t blame his neighbors for their actions—or lack thereof. If anything their transparence was enviable. They made their choice and they stood by it, residual guilt and all. Knott and Dai knew who they were. In contrast, Rumpelstiltskin was a fraud in so many, awful ways. His appearance could not be denied: torn clothes, unwashed hair, a sunken expression, and an ever present hobble. This was truth. So why then did he have gold tucked safe within a pocket, the village’s choice cuts stuffed into his satchel, and a faery’s hand lit lightly on his arm?

 

“Rum?”

 

“I’m fine,” he said and dared to lay a calloused hand over Lady Belle’s. The three of them trudged ahead.

 

The remainder of their afternoon was nearly as morose as the start and Rumpelstiltskin would freely admit that, once again, he was the cause. He felt tired, hollowed out even, and all he wanted was to return home with his stolen goods and pretend that they weren’t stolen at all. Only Bae still had a genuine smile on his face, his beautiful, oblivious boy. Playfully kicking up snow, Bae nattered on as Rumpelstiltskin mechanically picked out wool—stirring only slightly when he realized that he could buy so much more since he hadn’t had to pay for the meat. The revelation induced both excitement and guilt.

 

For her part, Lady Belle only spoke again when she was handed a steamy, glazed bun.

 

“Thank you, Dolin.” She murmured. Lady Belle drew in an appreciative breath. “This is so nice of you.”

 

“Tis nothing, m’lady. Would’ve had a hearty meat pie ready if I’d known you’d be here today.” Dolin’s cheeks were as red as his cold ears. “Can definitely have one for ya if you’ll be around a week from now.”

 

Lady Belle made a non-committal noise, one that cut straight through Rumpelstiltskin. Of course she wouldn’t stay forever, of course…

 

But then Lady Belle turned, pulling the warm bun between her hands, icing seeping into Milah’s gloves. When half was available she said, “Here,” and pressed it against Rumpelstiltskin’s lips. He consumed the sweet, his eyes wide and trembling.

 

“Good?” Lady Belle asked. Gods, she had no idea. Or maybe she did. There was definitely a laugh hidden beneath that word.

 

“Yeah it’s good!” Bae spoke for him and Rumpelstiltskin jerked back to himself. He blinked down at his son. He’d already consumed his treat in three massive bites and was now rubbing his stomach in evident satisfaction.

 

“That icing will freeze to your face, Bae.” Rumpelstiltskin croaked. His words drew a giggle from Lady Belle and the tightness within him loosened just a little more.

 

“Thank you again, Dolin.” She said. “Come, you two. We’ll have more than frozen icing if we don’t get warm soon. Let’s head home.”

 

Home.

 

Gold and lies, meat and deception, war and sealed pouches, a past attached to them both… the threat of her leaving. There was so much to fear, but for now Rumpelstiltskin had Lady Belle calling his shack “home”… and that dissipated the fear immensely.

 

“Yes,” he agreed and she took his arm.

 

And yet…

 

Yet even Lady Belle’s optimism couldn’t halt the passage of time.

 

Bae noticed them first: tracks in the snow that hadn’t been there when they’d left. Horse’s tracks, and there were far too many to attribute to the travelers heading to and from the market. When they were almost home Rumpelstiltskin could see an entire field of footprints arching towards his village and his stomach dropped like a stone.

 

“No,” he whispered.

 

“What?”

 

Lady Belle turned to Bae when Rumpelstiltskin stood frozen, but he too was silent.

 

“Rum? Bae? What is it?”

 

Rumpelstiltskin managed to lift an arm, approximating a miserable whimper. He knew she’d spotted them too when he heard a sharp intake of breath.

 

Up ahead was a group of men, their horses stomping in the cold, the dying light glinting off bits of their armor.

 

A group of soldiers stood outside Rumpelstiltskin’s door.


	12. The Taking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, friends! I hope you enjoy this chapter somewhere warm as the temperature begins to drop (at least where I'm at...)

_Belle stood beneath the tree with Anualt on her arm; the literal feeling of it—Anualt’s entire weight resting on Belle’s skin and bones. Small as the old woman was, she pressed hard as if hoping to sink them both into the snow. Belle tried to draw back and failed._

_“Why would I possibly need such a thing?” she spat. The pouch hung before them, ticking side-to-side in the wind like some horrible pendulum, counting down time she didn’t have._

_“Don’t ask stupid questions, child.”_

_Belle bristled at the term as much as the retort. She was frozen among so many reactions: wanting to lash out, to curl in, to scream that she would never need this ‘gift,’ to hiss that it was hardly a gift at all. A curse. A temptation. Something the likes of her would never need._

_Anualt seemed to read the words right off her face. The old woman hacked and it took Belle a moment to realize she was laughing. It was horrible and brittle in the cold air, pouring out of her in an unwelcome burst. There was nothing humorous in that laugh, nor fond. It was the laugh of the resigned._

_“What do you know of healing, M’lady?” Anualt spat. “You with your curled hair and pretty gowns? Oh, don’t look so surprised now. You might be wearing Morraine’s castoff’s, but I know the walk and the air of a woman used to finery. Tell me then, truly, what do you know of work?”_

_“I know my fair share,” Belle threw right back. She tossed said curls in the wind, daring Anualt to continue judging her by what Belle could not control. “I told you about the Ogre Wars. In my time. What? Do you think I just sat back and watched my people die? Yes!” Belle whispered it fiercely, catching the look on Anualt’s face. “_ My _people. You’re right. My father was King, I had my fare share of gowns, but I bloodied them all in an effort to do what I could. And Rum—” Belle stopped. Rethought that. “_ Rumple _. I’ve done work for him too.”_

_For just a second, Anualt’s expression was so genuinely horrified that Belle burst out a laugh of her own._

_“Not that sort of work!” She cried, wiping a tear before it froze. “Housework. I cook and clean for him. Well… we were getting to the cooking part.”_

_The tension between them eased._

_“I regret my words then,” Anualt said kindly, also lowering her defensive shoulders. “But the message behind them still stands: you may well need this. No—listen, child. Healing is no scientific art. It is not for those who demand perfection. Sometimes the limb must be cut in order to save the rest. Sometimes we must cause pain in order to later soothe. Healing is work. It hurts and it leaves an ache behind, body and soul. And if you cannot heal…” She nodded her head solemnly. “You cut your loses. This world is your patient, M’lady. Can you cure it of Rumplestiltskin?”_

_“The world needs no curing from him,” Belle said. Her voice carried cold and clear through the air._

_“I pray that you’re right. But if you’re not…” Anualt creaked forward, old hands forcefully tying the pouch to Belle’s dress. “Then you must cut the limb. That will be easier here then when the cowered possesses actual power.”_

_Belle set her jaw. “I won’t.”_

_“You will. You’re too smart to do otherwise.”_

***

 

Belle had every intention of destroying the pouch the first chance she got. Now though, standing huddled with Rum and Bae as they peered at the soldiers, something told her to keep it for just a while longer.

 

She hid it beneath her dress, her hands feeling hot even though the rest of her was so cold.

 

“Rum?” she breathed.

 

He was shaking. Not the shivers of cold, or his usual, normal tremors, nor even the grieved wracking he’d undergone when telling her of his status within the community. No, Rum _shook_ , his entire being seizing as he too stared at the soldiers. Belle tried to catch his eye, realized he was looking through her (the first time she’d failed to gain his undivided attention), and dropped her gaze to his hands instead. They’d always been telling, even when they were covered in scales, and now they gripped fiercely at the collar of Bae’s shirt.

 

Bae, for his part, looked horrifyingly resigned.

 

“Bae?” Belle tried. “Talk to me.”

 

“… they’re soldiers,” he said, stating the obvious. “For the war.”

 

“Okay… and why would they be at your door?”

 

Bae turned to her then, his face hard in the fading light. “Papa already went. He can’t go again with his leg. But I…I..” Bae swallowed. “I’ll be old enough soon.”

 

It was like taking a blow to the gut. Belle had experienced that once, during her time on the sides of the battlefield, when another civilian-turned-fighter had shoved her aside, desperate to get at his fallen friend. It was one of the most painful experiences of her life, not just because of the physical pain but from the emotion as well, what it stemmed from. That blow was a blow of grief, a man not much older than she letting out his anger and fear at what lay before him. It had taken her breath away and it had never entirely come back.

 

War took so much from them.

 

But they’d never even considered taking the children.

 

“You’re a child,” Belle said aloud, recognizing it as a truth. “You’re a _child_.” Her own hands had begun to shake. “They can’t draft you!”

 

A tinnier hand slipped against her, squeezing in an awful attempt at reassurance. The young should not comfort the old.

 

“I’m not old enough yet. Not really. They used to take those in their twentieth year and beyond, then it dropped to the seventeenth, now it’s the fifteenth, sometimes even thirteen…” Bae trailed off a moment. “It’s hard to know ages here though. Papa always celebrates my birth-day, but I know a lot who don’t. I think some who they took aren’t as old as they look and… and I’m looking older every day.” He gave a watery smile. “Papa says I look very grown up!”

 

Until then Rum had still been standing frozen, his gaze fixed on the men off in the distance. At Bae’s words he jerked, like a creature shedding an icy layer of skin. He shut his eyes and Belle winced at the pain she saw there. Bae couldn’t understand his own words, how he’d mistakenly turned a father’s teasing into an awful, unavoidable truth. She twisted awkwardly to sneak her other hand against Rum’s wrist.

 

“They’ve taken children,” he whispered. Rum sounded like he only half realized he was speaking. “The tall ones. They’re good for carrying loads.”

 

“Well, Bae still has a ways to go in the height department,” Belle said firmly. She deliberately released them both and lay an arm across his head, like she was making use of a counter. “Look, he barely reaches my waist!”

 

“I’m taller than that!” Bae insisted, also trying to lighten the mood. When Belle looked though—fixing a smile in place—Rum still seemed just as scared. More so, if that were even possible, and he wasn’t looking at the soldiers anymore.

 

“M’lady,” he said. Softly, so softly. “M’lady… how old are _you_?”

 

Belle’s stomach dropped.

 

Oh… well then.

 

“… Roughly the perfect age, I’d imagine,” she answered honestly, suddenly serious. “Are they taking women?” They had in her time, though Belle didn’t know if it had always been a practice.

 

“They took Liddya,” Bae murmured.

 

“Fai and Nessa too.”

 

She could tell by the look on their faces that there were other names, no doubt a surprising number given the size of the village. From their spot beyond the crests of snow Belle could just make out the dispersed houses, a few barns here and there—one lying charred of course—as well as what might have been a communal well, when the ice wasn’t quite so thick. She estimated that this area could house maybe fifty at the most, and that was being generous. She’d met maybe… ten? Twelve residents in her days here? Too few. And still, the soldiers looked ready to take more.

 

Rum was looking at those same expressions, the same swords chaffing leather belts. With a quick sound of pain he tugged Bae towards him and grabbed hold of Belle’s sleeve. Throwing himself forward to stumble through the snow.

 

Belle saw his destination immediately: the rickety structure where his sheep were kept, just beyond the house. With a reassuring squeeze she broke free from Rum’s grip and hauled Bae up into her arms. He went willingly, curving into her neck just as he had during the fire and Belle nearly laughed at the turnaround—from searing hot to bitter cold—but swallowed the sound down, lest it be heard. With Bae balanced in once hand, lifting her skirts with another, Belle pushed ahead to smooth a path for Rum. She could hear him gasping behind her. Crying.

 

They made it to the shed in record time.

 

“Keep quiet,” she whispered before setting Bae on his feet. It was almost a moot reminder at this point. Beyond the thin wall she could make out the sheep’s bleating, their cries overlaying any whispers that might have carried.

 

Bae lightly pressed his fingers to the wood.

 

“They need feeding,” he said, expression lost. “Papa shaved one last week. He needs to be warmed….”

 

“After the market. That’s what we decided, yes? This is just a setback. Only a setback.”

 

Quite the setback though. Belle could just imagine it… entering a war she’d already fought once, generations before she was even due to be born. She’d thought little of rushing into that blaze, nor of confronting Anualt with all her powers, but now, shivering behind this shed, it occurred to Belle that she could actually _die_ here. And what would happen then, beyond the obvious? What would that mean for everyone else?

 

Perhaps nothing. Belle wasn’t so narcissistic as to believe she held any great place in this world, yet nor was she so modest to think that individuals didn’t have choices, and that those choices held great consequence. She’d brought two kingdoms together after all, her conception achieving politically what her parents’ love had failed to do. She’d stopped the seventh (and hopefully final) Ogre War, her choice to leave with Rumplestiltskin the price—the gift—she’d been willing to pay. Her actions on the battlefield had saved hundreds, her kindness, she was told time and again, a balm for the soul. What happens if one were to remove Belle from history, some three-hundred years before her time?

 

“Belle?” Bae said softly.

 

“Keep down,” she answered, only aware now that she’d begun to shake quite violently. “Just keep still.”

 

What was it Time had said? Smooth things over?

 

Belle didn’t think she was doing a very good job.

 

“M’lady.” Rum finally caught up with them, collapsing at their side as he gripped his leg. Tugging him close, giving him time to breathe, Belle carefully peaked around the shed’s side.

 

“Three soldiers,” she whispered. “No… four. The last one is keeping back. Don’t know his rank, but two of them are just grunts. The leader though…”

 

“Hordor. The Duke’s man. He’s—he’s—” Rum cut off, still digging frozen hands into his thigh. He suddenly let go though and grabbed hold of Belle’s hand just as tight, bowing over it as if in reverence.

 

“He’s in charge of the army,” Bae finished for his father. “And the fourth is probably _his_ servant. He uses magic,” Bae’s voice rose dangerously, made up of equal parts fear and excitement. “I’ve seen him do it, Belle! He’s even more powerful than Anualt.”

 

Belle gnashed her teeth. “Lovely. Bad enough we’ve got a recruitment on our hands, now we’re adding more magic to the mix too.”

 

“Spinner!” Hordor called, making them all jump. “I’m not a patient man!”

 

“Gods, how long have they been waiting…?”

 

“They call him the Dark One.”

 

Belle froze.

 

Completely and totally, her body seized with a cold at those two words, her very skin remembering the name even as her mind tripped to catch up. She recalled her first memory of the terms together—‘Dark’ that thing that sometimes scared her as a child, ‘One’ the beginning of her arithmetic, ‘Dark One’ the phrase her father spoke, bent over his military maps, the arch of his head proving that he had nothing left to lose. It was one thing for a King to speak those words, quite another to hear them coming out of the mouth of a child. It hit Belle so hard that she actually looked back, to check and be sure that it was Rum, not Rumple beside her. Indeed, he still lay gasping in the snow, the image comical had it come with long nails and speckled skin. The words held such power over Belle though that she blinked, half expecting her Rumplestiltskin to be waiting when she opened her eyes…

 

There was only Rum, looking as fearful of the name as she was shocked.

 

“The—” Belle pushed through the croak her voice had become. “The Dark One? You’re sure?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“You’re _sure?_ ”

 

Bae gave her an odd little look. “Belle?” and his confusion convinced her fully. Belle shut her eyes once more.

 

The Dark One. Surely it wasn’t a common name. No, she knew for a fact that the title referred to only one entity who stretched back—supposedly—before the Enchanted Forest even had sprouts of trees to its name. She’d done the research herself the moment her father had mentioned the name. I had never occurred to her though that it might _only_ be a title, one passed from person to person.

 

Belle gathered courage and peered as far as she dared. She could just make out the rider behind the others, shrouded in a cloak that hid all but his hands. She thought that they looked greenish against the snow… but she couldn’t say. Belle had to acknowledge that she was too far away and that her mind may have been looking for connections that weren’t truly there.

 

Still, she could _not_ deny the fear in Rum’s eyes, nor the awe she saw in Bae’s, the kind that only exists in a boy too young to yet understand the dangers of power. Belle knew those expressions. No doubt her own features had carried reflections during her first few days in the castle. Those were looks only the Dark One could produce.

 

So… the rider before her was the Dark One… yet someday Rum would take his place. How? Perhaps more importantly, _why?_

 

She wouldn’t find out if these men dragged her off to the front lines.

 

“Last chance, spinner!” Hodor hollered. He threw out an arm and a lit torch was immediately placed in his palm. “Present yourself or I’ll burn your pitiful cottage to cinders!”

 

A shudder ran through Bae at the mention of fire. “Papa.”

 

Belle saw the change then, deep down in Rum’s eyes, in a place that she knew—with no small pang of regret—that he’d never share with her. Not now, nor in a three-hundred years with glittering, green skin. But it wasn’t for her to judge the process, only the result. Belle watched with pride as Rum rose to his feet on shaking legs. He cast a look down at them both, drawing strength, and even managed a gesture to her: stay here, stay safe. Then he hobbled away, looking as if he didn’t go now, he wouldn’t go at all.

 

But he did.

 

“Spinner!”

 

This time it was a cry of victory. Hodor’s voice cut across the snow, making Belle jump once more. A small group of neighbors had gathered by now and they jumped with her. Rum positively startled.

 

Belle could just make him out, falling into an awkward bow before the soldiers, nearly tripping over his own staff. Before he could regain his footing, Hodor threw the lit torch right at his feet, a spark catching before the snow snuffed it out. Rum fell forward to smother the flames beginning at his pants leg, the men before him roaring with laughter.

 

Belle’s fingers tightened against the wood.

 

“Well met, Spinner, well met,” Hodor said, sounding as if he meant anything but. “Tell me, do you normally make a habit of not presenting yourself when your betters call?”

 

“N-no, M’lord.” Rum murmured. He was still kneeling in the snow at their feet.

 

Hodor looked around exaggeratedly at his companions. “Is that so? Funny thing then, I might have sworn we were waiting here in this frigid weather. Suffering cold and wind… will you deny that it’s your fault I can’t feel my feet ‘no more?”

 

Rum winced. “I’m… I’m sorry, M’lord. I—today—today I was at the market… my duty—”

 

“Your duty is to your Duke!” Hodor suddenly roared, making Rum skitter back. “Not your blasted, fucking thread! Frankly, spinner, I care about as much for your work as a dry bitch and if it were up to me, I’d have cut that ugly head from your shoulders years ago.” To prove his point, Hodor slowly drew his sword from its sheath. The fading light glinted off the blade, as sharp as the point itself.

 

Bae began to cry out, but Belle threw a hand over his mouth. She tucked him against him, murmuring reassurances, praying that they were true.

 

“The only thing you’re still good for,” Hodor said, “is that spawn of yours. It is too bad that little boys have a tendency to die when their daddies aren’t around.” He spat at Rum’s chocking form before sheathing his sword. “Where is the brat? Bring him here!”

 

Belle’s arms released and Bae needed no further encouragement. He flew from her, around the shed and into the fray.

 

“ _Leave my papa alone!_ ”

 

“There he is!” Hodor laughed. “What say you, Liam?” He turned towards one of the guards. “Spirited, isn’t he?”

 

“Not quite, M’lord.” The man bowed his head respectfully. “Looked to me like he was hiding behind that shed.”

 

“Ah. A coward like his father. Not surprising. A rotted tree can only bear ill fruit. Hiding anything else back there, boy?”

 

Belle sucked in a breath, wondering if they’d realized… but no. They were enthralled with their own cruelty, dancing about Rum and Bae on their horses, taunting from up high. Only Bae dared to strike them back and when he did the men laughed. His hands were still small compared to theirs. A saving grace, all things considered. It might just keep him here a while longer.

 

“Please,” Belle whispered. She gripped the wood tighter and shook herself, aching to join them.

 

“He’s got a ways to go,” the other guard cried. He whacked Bae across the shoulders with the flat of his blade, causing him to stumble down next to his father. Bae immediately tried to rise to his knees, seething, but Rum’s hand kept him down. He was tugging weakly at Bae’s sleeve, shaking his head no. Please, no.

 

“You’re no fighter,” Hodor sneered. “Don’t know why our Lord wants to send the likes of you onto the battlefield. No doubt you’re just a decoy; a tasty snack for the ogres before the real fighters finish them off. Get up.”

 

Hodor drew Bae to his feet, one hand leaning down to catch his collar while the other propelled him off his mare. The beast stood stamping in the snow, throwing its head at all the excitement. Belle saw immediately that the horse was as bad tempered as its master. Bae did too. He backed away.

 

“Nah uh, boy.” Hodor shoved him forward. “I said, _get up_.”

 

The other men laughed.

 

Belle recognized the simple, but effective test immediately. Her own father had used it to conduct drafts on the younger members of their village, back when they thought they had a choice about who they could send out to the battlefield. Readiness for war wasn’t just a matter of age or maturity—often it came right down to physical strength or, in this case, height. A soldier had to be able to mount a full grown horse, quickly too, should the need arise. One glance at Bae and that mare proved he wasn’t ready yet, no chance that he could lift his leg into that stirrup.

 

Hodor just wanted to see him fail.

 

What that brute of a man didn’t realize though was that strength could often be overcome with intelligence, that an ability to think was more precious than muscles or even a sword. Kneeling in the snow, her dress and tights completely soaked through now, Belle knew with certainty that Bae could get on that horse. He had the quick, lithe body needed to swing himself into the saddle, provided he managed enough leverage. There was debris here and there, buckets and hollowed crates he could use to stand on. Bae could even turn to one of the men behind him and cheekily ask for a lift. There were numerous ways to get on that horse, Belle only hoped he was smart enough to refrain.

 

Or rather, humble enough.

 

In this matter at least, Rum had taught him well. Bae made a show of scrambling for the stirrup, missed, and toppled back into the snow. He rolled away before the horse could kick, driving the laughter of the men up another notch.

 

“Pathetic,” Hodor said and he sounded quite pleased about it. “You should be proud, spinner. Your son is just like you.”

 

In many ways it was the worst thing he could have said, the insult that cut deeper than any sword. It _was_ an insult, for Belle could see that Rum only thought of his perceived faults—a lack of physical prowess, poverty, cowardice—and that the idea that he’d passed these traits on to Bae was devastating. Rum was blind to the other interpretation: that he’d passed on his creativity, fierce intellect, kindness, and above all his bravery in matters that had nothing to do with wielding a weapon.

 

Bae saw it though. He crawled across the snow and gripped his Papa’s hand. Belle couldn’t make out what Bae mouthed to him, but whatever it was produced a watery smile from Rum.

 

“How touching,” Hodor drawled. “And what’s this?” Quick as a whip he scooped up Rum’s satchel, dumping the meat and other goods out onto the ground. Belle saw Rum wince as his new cloth quickly became soaked, whereas Hodor’s expression became positively gleeful. He nudged the meat with the toe of his boot.

 

“Well, well, well,” he said. “How interesting. A destitute spinner with a King’s feast on his hands? Who’d you steal this from, _bastard_?” Hodor went from pleased to malicious in two seconds flat. His boot moved from the wrapped meat to the meat of Rum’s thigh, his cry echoing sharply in the clear air. Belle’s gasp and Bae’s shout came a moment too late.

 

“Leave him alone!” Bae screamed. “We didn’t steal it—it was given to us.”

 

The men howled as one, Hodor gearing up for another kick. “Oh sure! Certainly! I bet people just give the likes of you stuff all the time. Don’t make me laugh, boy.” Hodor swung his leg back again, this time aiming for Rum’s injury. Rum blanched and prepared for the strike.

 

“ _It’s true_.”

 

Belle hadn’t realized that she’d spoken until numerous eyes were upon her. One moment she’d been hiding behind the shed, the next she stood before these men, her back as straight as she could manage.

 

The crowd had grown exponentially over the course of the confrontation, everyone who’d been at the market now on their way home. Belle spotted Dai and Knott off to her left. She noted their stricken expressions.

 

Despite the fact that she had Hodor bearing down on her now, Belle looked only at the Dark One. He was the only one not whispering or shaking, scowling or drawing swords—dead silent, his hood had turned his face into a black void. Belle couldn’t see if he had the same scaled skin, or perhaps those keen cat-like eyes. All she knew was that despite keeping to the background, it was a certainty that he’d been watching. Belle could feel his stare and it was nothing like Rumplestiltskin’s.

 

Belle shivered, a single tear tracing its way down her cheek. She didn’t dare wipe it away.

 

“Belle…”

 

Rum looked up at her, clutching Bae to his chest, his expression somewhere between terrified and grateful. Even so, hidden from the soldiers’ view he skittered his hand sharply to the side—run, run now—and Belle felt so much pride rising up within her. She firmly shook her head.

 

“Hello there, M’lady,” Hodor said. He gave an exaggerated bow before leering at her. “How odd. I don’t think I recall you from my previous visits. Did the spinner steal you too? A far more precious type of meat, I’d wager.” The way he said ‘meat’ left nothing to the imagination. “Certainly the only explanation for why a pretty thing like yourself would be in the company of—”

 

“Nothing was stolen,” Belle said clearly, interrupting Hodor. She pushed past him and marched towards the Dark One. Around her the villagers gasped. Belle could feel her own sweat trickling, then freezing along her back.   


“Belle,” she heard Rum say again. This time it was a moan.

 

“Bae speaks the truth. Do you know this boy to lie?” She asked it of the whole crowd, but Belle’s eyes were solely on the Dark One. “That meat was indeed given to us, for reasons that are absolutely none of your business. Dai? Do you deny that this was a legitimate, peaceful transaction?”

 

“No, M’lady.” His voice carried tentatively over to her. Belle couldn’t see his face, but she could imagine it well enough—the fear and the strain. “T-that is, no I don’t deny it. Not at all. I g-gave it to the spinner alright. Not an hour past.”

 

“Thank you, Dai.” Belle said coldly. She took another step forward. “You’ve overstepped yourselves. Since you came here today you have done nothing but torture and humiliate these people, lie and cheat and steal. You’ve certainly not done anything worthy of mentioning in your Duke’s name. If you have business here then complete it. If not, _leave_.”

 

“You stupid bitch,” Hordor seethed. He was two paces from Belle when she whirled on him instead.

 

“Leave, or I will take that dagger from your belt and see what power it grants me,” she spat.

 

The threat stopped him cold. Not because Hodor—or the two men heavily armed men flanking him—expected an exhausted, burned woman to be able to overpower them… but simply because of the shock her knowledge induced. For Belle’s part, it wasn’t a terribly difficult deduction. She’d heard talk of a dagger long before her father ever summoned Rumple, the stories claiming that it was the one, true means of controlling the Dark One. He’d looked for it of course, but ultimately the quest had proved unsuccessful. How could it be anything else when the dagger was in Rumple’s possession?

 

At least, that’s what Belle had always assumed. He was too confident in his dealings, too cavalier with his immortality to possibly be under the thumb of another. Even if the dagger was simply missing or lost, Belle would have expected an obsessive search from the likes of Rumple. She’d concluded then that if such a dagger _did_ exist, it must be kept in the darkest, most secret room of his castle, deeper even than the dungeon Rumple had first thrown her into. It was an assumption, a logical conclusion even, yet the dagger’s existence had just been an inkling… until now.

 

What else could that wretched thing possibly be?

 

Hordor didn’t seem inclined to think through the logic of Belle’s words. He didn’t wonder for a moment how a slip of a girl might overpower him and his guards in order to get at the dagger. It didn’t matter. All that registered was that this stranger knew things she most assuredly shouldn’t. If Belle had any doubts about her guess, they swiftly disappeared at the scowl that twisted Hodor’s features. His hand landed against the dagger’s hilt protectively.

 

“Who are you?” he spit.

 

“I would like to know the answer to that as well.”

 

All heads jerked towards the voice instinctually. Belle heard Rum let out a pained breath behind her and she too felt like something cold and slimy had slithered into her chest. It was the Dark One, urging his steed closer, step by ominous step. He stopped just a few feet from Belle’s skirts, peering down at her—though Belle only knew that because his hood inclined forward. The face within it was still shrouded by darkness, do deep it nearly seemed tangible. This was nothing like the kidding, performative Dark One she’d grown used to and Belle instinctually stumbled away.

 

“I’m just a traveler,” she heaved. “Someone who wishes to be left alone. I repeat: Rumplestiltskin and his son have done nothing to you. They have nothing for you, nor do I. Move on.”

 

The voice behind the hood hissed what might have been a laugh. It swept to Belle on the wind and she felt it caressing her ears, whispering things for her alone.

 

“You do have something. Knowledge. Who told you such things?”

 

“I—”

 

“Well?”

 

An arm draped in cloth reached for her, a hair’s breadth from Belle’s face when—

 

“I told her.”

 

Anualt stepped through the crowed, hobbling and shoving her way to the front. She glared at Hordor and the Dark One equally, exhibiting more courage than the rest of the town combined. One hand was kneading her side like she’d run hard enough to earn herself a stitch.

 

“Your Duke has spread his paranoia,” she spat. “The child has a fondness for stories, so I filled her head with a pretty lie or two. What? You’ve never done the same? I am the only practicer of magic in these lands, present company excluded.” She bowed sarcastically to the Dark One. “She came to me for tales of such myths and legends. It’s hardly my fault if she took them as truth. Nor hers, I’d wager. The girl looks as if she were dropped young— and often.”

 

Belle did her best to drop the hostile attitude, instead opening her eyes to look as young and foolhardy as possible.

 

To her relief, Hordor laughed.

 

“What an active imagination you have.” He ‘patted’ Belle hard enough to make her stumble. She felt something else ramming into the back of her legs and dropped her hand to find Bae’s curls. She tightened her fingers there protectively.

 

“You’ve wasted enough of our time, Spinner,” Hordor said. He kicked a shower of snow at Rum’s face and Belle caught her tongue before it could say anything else. Anualt shook her head subtly from afar.

 

“Take the girl!”

 

For one horrible moment Belle thought they meant her. Rum must have too because she heard him gasp, something wet and teary sticking in his throat. When Belle turned to see Hodor’s arm though, he was pointing at a particular wisp of a girl, one huddling at the very edge of the crowd.

 

It was Morraine.

 

Morraine, the girl who’d kindly given Belle one of only three available dresses, offering what she could now see was the warmest and filled with the least holes. Morraine, one of the few friends Bae had left, despite their age difference. Morraine, who huddled against her parents, face pale as milk, a kitten hissing serpent-like at her feet.

 

Not that Hordor cared one wit for any of this.

 

“Take her,” he repeated and the two guards charged through the snow to do just that. It took her a moment to respond, but when she did Morraine howled into the twilight. She twisted in their arms, her parents wrenching her backwards like children, too concerned with keeping a toy to realize that their actions were breaking it. That little kitten sunk its teeth into one guard’s boots. He shoved it away as one would an errant fly.

 

“Don’t touch her don’t touch her don’t touch her—!”

 

Belle stared wide-eyed. She didn’t realize she was holding Bae back until she felt him jar against her arms. His screams filled her ears, not quite drowning out her own, repetitive “No.”

 

“Mama!” Morraine shrieked. Her mother lunged and took her by the shoulders, nearly toppling all of them into the snow. The guards kept their feet though and Belle saw the shoulder of Morraine’s dress tear in two.

 

Hordor scowled at the uproar. “Enough of this,” he said, just loud enough for Belle to hear. He motioned subtly at the Dark One, his other hand touching two fingers to the dagger’s hilt.

 

The Dark One raised a hand. This time his sleeve fell away and Belle was treated to a peak at green scales overly laying glittering gold skin. She was the only one bothering to look and for that, at least, she was grateful. For the arm that appeared was nothing that young eyes should witness. It was thicker than Rumple’s, calloused in places, and appeared far more malicious than Belle would have thought any appendage could be. Hovering above the pure white snow... it seemed an abomination. The Dark One snapped his fingers closed with great satisfaction.

 

Morraine stilled.

 

It was an unnatural stillness, especially given the situation. One moment she screamed and thrashed with all the terror youth could provide. The next second her body grew limp, her eyes hollow. The Dark One’s fingers opened, twitched, and Morraine drifted three inches into the air.

 

“Gods preserve us,” her father whispered. He stumbled away from his own daughter even as his wife continued to reach out, crawling and sobbing in the snow.

 

Morraine was tossed across Hodor’s horse, her body treated like a sack of potatoes.

 

“I don’t know what all the fuss is about,” he called, turning like a performer. “You all know the rules. You turn fifteen, you serve.” Hordor chucked a scroll at the crowd’s feet. It unrolled just enough for Belle to see Morraine’s name peeking out beneath the Duke’s seal. Bae suddenly slumped against her and Belle sunk them both back to the ground.

 

“Almost out of this age though,” Hordor mused. He mounted his horse, giving the unconscious Morraine a smack on the ass as he went. “Hey, spinner—soon we’ll need some real young’uns. I’ll come for your boy!”

 

With that threat Hordor threw his horse into a gallop. His men followed a few seconds behind, one of them needing to chase down his steed from his early torment with Bae. The Dark One was the last to leave them. He left at a crawl in comparison, his darkened hood scanning the villagers. His gaze lingered on Belle. She couldn’t see it, but gods could she feel it.

 

“Leave,” she mouthed and to her great relief he did.

 

Belle heaved there, sitting, Bae now turned to press against the hollow of her throat. She could feel hot tears pouring there, quickly freezing into ice against her skin. Belle didn’t care. She pressed Bae harder against her chess and turned her gaze towards home.

 

“Rum,” she said.

 

Rum didn’t look up. He still sat in the snow, head bowed heavily. Belle couldn’t see the tears—couldn’t even hear them—but she knew they were there.

 

They were there alright.

 

Like father, like son.


	13. The Kitten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greetings, all! I hope you all had a lovely weekend. Hope this chapter tops it off!

Rumplestiltskin was cold... and then he was warm. All at once, like someone had moved him from ice to fire in a single dot of time. Like magic. He shifted his limbs and felt the coarse thread of blankets. He moved his leg and felt it ache fiercely—evidence that he still lived. This was a useful bit of information to keep in mind, given that Rumplestiltskin opened his eyes and witnessed an angel.

“No,” he rasped after a moment, throat dry. “A fairy.”

“Fairies?” Lady Belle answered. “Did you dream of fairies, Rum? If only. I hear they assist those in need...”

She trailed off, her head bent in sorrow. For a moment Rumplestiltskin couldn’t think of what might taint her happiness like this, what could possibly force Lady Belle to show the world the crown of her head rather than her smile? He even thought—briefly, foolishly— that he would fight whatever had done this to her. He’d find the courage to try.

Then it all came rushing at him at once.

Rumplestiltskin closed his eyes and again saw Morraine bent across the back of Hodor’s horse. He remembered that his chance had already come and gone. He’d done nothing.

“Stop that.”

The blankets lifted, just for a moment, and then a warm hand was clasped within his. Rumplestiltskin gasped at the contact, eyes flying back open to meet Lady Belle’s. They were fierce and assertive, a sharp contract to the tender fingers that were carding through his son’s curls—to the unbearably tender squeeze she gave his palm.

Lady Belle swallowed her own emotions. “There was nothing you could have done, Rum. Nothing. What? Were we to fight Hodor and his men? And if we had succeeded? How long a ride is it to the City? How long before the Duke himself came, ready to crush this village for its disobedience? Fight, yes, but fight smart. Plan, strategize, wait—as hard as that is. Or do you require that you fight the entirety of the Duke’s army in order to claim yourself as worthy? Would you fight the Dark One too?” A violent shiver ran through her. “Gods, I had no idea he was here. I... I wasn’t expecting...” Lady Belle trailed off.

Rumplestiltskin’s eyes had blown wide during her speech. His mind raced with the implications, trying to reconcile that beast of Hodor’s with his beautiful Lady Belle. It didn’t work and Rumplestiltskin’s brain sputtered out.

“You know him?” he recalled a flash then—Belle standing firm in the snow, the wind whipping cloth about her ankles, her clear voice saying something about a dagger…

“No,” Lady Belle said softly. “I don’t know him. We’ve never met before. Not really. I’ve only heard _of_ him… yet that’s not entirely true, now is it…” Lady Belle shook her head reproachfully. At herself, Rumplestiltskin thought, and the image made his chest ache. “I know more than you, Rum. No doubt, but it’s not something I think I can explain.”

She raised beseeching eyes to him and Rumplestiltskin realized with a shock that he was above her, the bed giving him some lift. It was all wrong and he suddenly felt quite sick.

“We needn’t discuss it,” he whispered.

A part of him was relieved actually. Immensely so. Rumplestiltskin was not an educated man, but even he could understand that this was somehow tied up in Lady Belle’s past, her strange manner of coming here. A whispery voice in his mind sneered that Lady Belle didn’t _want_ to tell the likes of him, not about something so personal… yet a marginally stronger voice countered that maybe she _couldn’t_ tell. There were forces at work here that Rumplestiltskin could never hope to understand—time, magic—and there was that tiny, relieved pocket within him that was so pleased he didn’t have to try.

The majority of his relief though… that was for Lady Belle. _Belle_.

Rumplestiltskin heaved himself up on shaking arms, propping his back against the pillows that had thoughtfully been provided for him. He looked around at the raging fire Lady Belle had started, the firmly barred door. Rumplestiltskin shifted again and this time the blankets fell from his chest. He looked down and found his second winter shirt bunched up around his stomach. Rumplestiltskin peaked and found clean pants as well. His feet were bare.

One second he blinked. The next Rumplestiltskin’s cheeks flared as red as the fire at the thought of Lady Belle dressing him. _Undressing_ him.

“My apologies,” Lady Belle murmured. Her own cheeks were stained a pretty pink, yet Rumplestiltskin thought he detected a hint of mischief in her eyes. “Your clothes were completely soaked through. I didn’t want to tuck you into bed like that. You would have caught your death from cold.”

Rumplestiltskin nodded numbly. The logic of Lady Belle’s argument had yet to truly override the actions themselves. He noted with a pang that _her_ dress was still damp, at least around the hem. Lady Belle had spread the fabric out towards the fire, no doubt resigned to waiting it out. She didn’t have another garment—Morraine hadn’t given her another, Rumplestiltskin couldn’t afford another—and Gods knew it wouldn’t have been appropriate for her to strip. The mere thought dried Rumplestiltskin’s throat like the desert.

“What happened?” he croaked.

“You were sad about Morraine,” Bae said. Rumplestiltskin jumped at his son’s voice. He’d rarely heard him keep so quiet.

Peering over, Rumplestiltskin found Bae curled in Lady Belle’s lap, morosely flipping through the book she’d brought with her. Bae looked up and met his father’s gaze with a brave smile. “It’s okay, Papa. Anualt helped us get you inside. Said this was far from the last stupid thing you’d do.”

Rumplestiltskin closed his eyes in humiliation. Anualt was merely an unfortunate witness then. She couldn’t lift him, not unless some of her own magic was involved, and Rumplestiltskin knew that she’d never waste such a precious resource on him. Certainly not after Hodor and his creature had visited, reminding his village once again why they feared the magical arts.

Rumplestiltskin shivered, but it quickly turned into something nearly pleasurable at the realization that Belle had indeed moved him—arms around his shoulders, perhaps even his waist…

“Shock,” Lady Belle supplied kindly.

Rumplestiltskin swallowed. “I don’t remember.”

That wasn’t entirely true. There was a vague memory in his mind’s eye of trudging back through snow, the wind drifting Lady Belle’s curls against his cheek. But Rumplestiltskin couldn’t swear to its reality. If it had been a dream, or even just a potent fantasy now, it wasn’t one he was willing to give up.

He swallowed again. “What must you think of me…” he stopped.

“What I think,” Lady Belle said firmly, “is that you have had an exhausting series of days. Far more than any one person should be put through. Poor Bae learned about fire first hand. A strange woman invaded your home—” Lady Belle smiled softly at him as she rose. She hefted Bae up onto the table and began pulling things out of his meager kitchen.

“You had a rather harrowing day at the market. And then Morraine...”

 

Lady Belle suddenly stopped, hunching over one of his pots as if she’d suddenly taken a blow to the stomach. Rumplestiltskin was trying to untangle himself from the sheets before he’d even made the decision to get up, but his own body was still tried and Bae was already there. He hopped down and ran to her side, one small hand tentatively massaging her back.

 

“Belle?” he whispered.

 

“I’m fine,” she said. Lady Belle directed the reassurance first at Bae, then at Rumplestiltskin, making his heart jump up high into his throat. “Truly. I just... gods. I’m wearing her clothes. That girl showed me kindness and I just stood there as they carted her away. I know there was little we could do, but—”

 

“Nothing,” Rumplestiltskin corrected her. His voice shook. “There was nothing we could have done, Lady Belle. You said it yourself and I... I trust your judgment.”

 

Bae nodded furiously. If he could forgive them both for resigning one of his few friends to such a faith... well, then they were both truly blessed. Were they not?

 

Rumplestiltskin closed his eyes, allowing the turmoil within him to roll unchecked for just a moment. Then he forced it down, opening his eyes again so that he might categorize everything around him for which he was grateful. He had food, and a roof, and Bae and Lady Belle—his family was whole, which was far more than what many of his neighbors could say.

 

“Whole,” he whispered to himself.

 

It was nearly an unimaginable concept and gods, he hadn’t even realized it until this moment, with Lady Belle heating water and Bae craning his neck to look. Rumplestiltskin looked to her hands, still covered in Milah’s gloves with soiled bandages peaking out from the cuff. Lady Belle had flown into his life with no regard for the ways in which she’d disrupt it and Rumplestiltskin couldn’t be happier. Yes, that was happiness trying to simmer up within him. It didn’t matter that she clearly wasn’t from this time, that she kept secrets, that Lady Belle apparently knew more about that horror tormenting their village than she might ever be able to reveal... she was here, which was more than Morraine’s parents could say at the moment. Lady Belle was here and damn if Rumplestiltskin would let that pass for some indeterminable future. She may not always stay—she couldn’t—but he had her in this moment. It was enough.

 

Rumplestiltskin heaved himself to his feet. His cruth startled Lady Belle as she scooped rice into the water

 

“Rum?” she asked. Perhaps he looked different too. Lady Belle certainly seemed surprised. They were both quite shocked when he gently took her hand.

 

“Bae,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “Get the salve?”

 

Bae scurried off as Rumplestiltskin hobbled to the table, doing his best to lead Lady Belle there. She followed willingly enough, now a soft, indulgent smile gracing her features. He blushed under her scrutiny.

 

“You’ve not had medicine in some time,” he whispered, ducking his head.

 

“It’s actually much better.” Lady Belle shifted her body, as if stretching every muscle and strengthening each bone. “You shouldn’t waste your medicine on me.”

 

Rumplestiltskin shook his head, now smiling himself. “Nonsense. It’s not what Anualt would provide, but...”

 

He was dimly aware that Bae returned with the salve, pushing it up onto the table next to Rumplestiltskin’s elbow. He must have sensed the sudden need for privacy—smart boy—or perhaps he merely wanted some for himself, for Bae said something about finally tending to the sheep before he slipped out the door, leaving Rumplestiltskin and Lady Belle to themselves. Swallowing, mouth suddenly dry, Rumplestiltskin turned her hands until they faced palm up. His calloused fingers traced the stitches he’d knitted years ago.

 

“May I?” He whispered.

 

Lady Belle lowered her head in assent.

 

Slowly, with the greatest care he could muster, Rumplestiltskin rolled the gloves down her wrist, gently tugging them from each finger, ensuring all the while that he didn’t ruin the bandages underneath. Even so, it was clear that they needed changing. Frayed at the edges, stained from their adventures, they’d begun pulling apart to show the pink skin underneath. It truly wasn’t as bad as he’d feared. The injuries she’d sustained while saving Bae would not scar at least and for that Rumplestiltskin was grateful.

 

“Do they hurt much?” he asked, gently unwinding the bandages.

 

“Not at all. I’ve had worse. Besides, the cold helps. Hard to notice pain when you’re constantly numb.”

 

Lady Belle laughed, but Rumplestiltskin strived to maintain his smile. He wished fervently that he had something more to offer her—somewhere warmer, dryer, filled with beautiful things... and perhaps with better company, though now Rumplestiltskin admitted that he couldn’t bear to part with Lady Belle until he had to.

 

For now he took her bare hands in his own, marveling at skin on skin. It was even better than the feeling of her hair against his cheek, or the press of her body against his in a hug. Rumplestiltskin only realized he’d closed his eyes in bliss when her hands tightened briefly around his. He startled in embarrassment.

 

“I’m so s-sorry, m’lady—”

 

“Don’t start with that again,” she admonished. “Rum. I don’t mind. I don’t.”

 

It was as if in a dream that he found the strength to pull away, just long enough to open the jar Bae had fetched for him. It was old and dusty, put aside in case of emergency only. Surely this counted through. Rumplestiltskin couldn’t stand another moment of Lady Belle in pain.

 

“May I?” He asked again, just to be sure.

 

This time Lady Belle took his hand, guiding it towards the salve, dipping his fingers in and pulling them back against her palm. From there it became easy. Natural even. Rumplestiltskin took the cool medicine and rubbed it reverently into her skin, skimming over tendons, between bones, giving thanks for each knuckle and every nail. Lady Belle didn’t let go of him though, so Rumplestiltskin felt her doing the same, easing salve into his body. It should have been a waste... but perhaps he did need healing, of some sort. Surely this couldn’t be reality. Him and Bae, still safe, a fairy holding his hands...

 

They ended with their fingers intertwined, breathing deeply.

 

“You’re trembling,” Lady Belle murmured.

 

Rumplestiltskin could only nod. He was. He might never stop.

 

“Thank you.”

 

It was Lady Belle who pulled away. Not in a cruel manner, simply practically, moving towards the pot on the fire where the steam had started to escape. Rumplestiltskin watched as she bent and revealed the rice, ducking her head away from him. Impossibly, the movement didn’t frighten him. He didn’t feel like Lady Belle was rejecting him. Rather, it seemed as if this were also hard for her, like—just perhaps—when it came time for her to leave, there might be a tiny seed of sorrow within her too, for having to leave this poor spinner.

 

It was far more than Rumplestiltskin had ever hoped for. It warmed him through and through.

 

He only hoped that Bae survived the separation too...

 

“The rice is nearly done,” Lady Belle said, standing. “How about I sear up some of the meat Dai and Knott gave us? Throw it into the pot.”

 

Rumplestiltskin made to respond before his stomach cut him off, giving an enormous rumble. He clapped his hands to his belly and flushed bright red. Lady Belle laughed.

 

It certainly was a marvelous sound.

 

“I’ll take that as a yes then. What seasonings does Bae like?”

 

Bae.

 

It rocked Rumplestiltskin back into his previous thoughts. He turned slightly to glance towards the door, knowing that Bae was just outside, no doubt thinking many of the same thoughts, worrying the same worries. Morarine had been a friend, certainly, but Bae had grown closer to Lady Belle in the last few days than Rumplestiltskin would have ever dared to believe. He might have chalked it up to her saving his life... but he couldn’t deny that he’d fallen for her just as quickly. Differently of course, though no less potently. Lady Belle had saved them both.

 

He wanted to ask the questions that had been burning within him for what felt like ages. Where are you really from? Who... who keeps you company? The man who taught you magic? When will you return to him? Will you ever come back?

 

The separation would break Rumplestiltskin. Sometime during the last few days he’d quietly come to terms with that. He couldn’t let it break Bae though. Not precious Bae.

 

You can’t leave him. You can’t leave us. Oh please, _please_ —

 

Not that he said any of this. Such a demand, even a plea, would have taken more courage than Rumplestiltskin would ever possess. Instead he bowed his head towards Lady Belle and what slipped out was,

 

“What is that?”

 

She startled, following his gaze down to the pouch still tied at her belt. Lady Belle fingered the beading with great trepidation. It was enough to encourage Rumplestiltskin to scoot back a bit.

 

Useless, considering she untied the knot and slammed the pouch down onto the table.

 

“Shouldn’t have that near the food.” Lady Belle released a nervous laugh. It sounded nearly pained. “You recognize the material, don’t you?”

 

Rumplestiltskin nodded. “Only Anualt possesses trinkets of such beauty.”

 

Lady Belle scowled. “Yes, well, the inside is fairly dark. It’s poison, Rum.”

 

He reared back even more.

 

“Potent,” she continued, “if I were to take a guess. Anualt gave it to me all right. Do you have a good place where we can keep it from Bae?”

 

“Why?” he gasped, entirely missing her question. “What need do you possibly have for that?”

 

Lady Belle crossed her arms. “ _None at all_. A place?”

 

“Yes, I—yes.”

 

Another secret then. Very well. Rumplestiltskin wasn’t sure he wanted to know why Anualt would give Lady Belle poison—it certainly could harbor no good for him. He rose on shaking legs and then immediately softened as Lady Belle offered him her arm, the gesture become nearly natural and gods, wasn’t that a miracle. He took up the pouch in trembling fingers so that she need never touch such a thing ever again, holding it in his opposite hand, away from them both, and leaned the rest of his body into Lady Belle. Together they traversed his small home and knelt by his bed where he had a simple lockbox tucked in between the frame and the stray mattress. The key was hidden under the floorboard nearby, smelling of earth and dead leaves as Rumplestiltskin retrieved it. It wasn’t much of a safe-box, but it was more than enough for Bae. He knew not to root around in his father’s things. It was also just large enough to hold the—

 

“Gold,” Rumplestiltskin gasped. He lurched and fell from the crouch he’d been in, knocking his shoulder against Lady Belle’s. Rumplestiltskin hardly noticed. His hands were scrambling over his new shirt, looking for the treasure that was no longer there. Had he lost it in the snow? Had Hodor…?

 

“Here,” Lady Belle said and from the folds of her dress she pulled the precious gift she’d given him. Rumplestiltskin was shocked at the amount of relief that swept through him, weakening his knees and making him grateful that they sat on the floor.

 

“I kept it safe after I… ah…”

 

Changed him. Right. Rumplestiltskin blushed to the roots of his hair.

 

Ignoring the heat running through his cheeks, he snatched the gold out of her hands. He felt awful immediately after he’d done it—for what it implied—but it truly wasn’t greed that had Rumplestiltskin clutching the spool to his chest. It was thankfulness. Gratitude that Lady Belle had chosen to give _him_ such a precious material, tailored to his interests, crafted from magic no less. Its uniqueness was valuable, no doubt, but he’d have treasured the gift even if it was a filthy stone she’d picked up from the side of the road. Because it was from Lady Belle. The fact that it was an astounding thing objectively just increased an already endless sense of appreciation. Rumplestiltskin wasn’t even sure he could bring himself to use it. Perhaps he’d just keep it beneath his bed, a reminder of these fairy tale days.

 

“You’ll make something astounding with that,” Lady Belle said. She smiled.

 

Oh. Well. Perhaps he’d use it after all.

 

He passed the pouch back to Lady Belle and she slipped it into the box. They locked it away—good riddance, whatever Anualt’s intent. They stood together once more. They walked the short distance to the table. Rumplestiltskin had never been happier.

 

Which itself brought forth a wave of guilt. Morraine.

 

“What will happen to her?” Rumplestiltskin whispered. Lady Belle had returned to her pots and pans.

 

“You know better than I.”

 

Rumplestiltskin closed his eyes, a jolt running through him. Yes, he did. All too well.

 

The army would strip Morraine of any valuables she possessed. For a woman of her age from his village, that was little—the cloth on her back and her hair. Morraine’s superiors would claim that long hair could only be a detriment in battle, though in truth her pretty brown locks, once washed and combed, would be sold to one of the wealthier ladies looking for a change. The only other thing of value Morraine had was her virginity and Rumplestiltskin knew all too well that there were men who’d snap that up quick as a whip. It disgusted him.

 

She’d be given coarse trousers and a tunic, boot without holes if she was lucky, a rickety spear and a shield that would dig splinters deep into her palm. Morraine’s first few months would be nothing but marching, an endless trek into the frontlines that would leave her feet bleeding from sores, her muscles liquefied, stitches in her side that would never quite go away, a rattle in her chest from too much wind and too little drink. Rumplestiltskin knew that a part of her would actually be relieved. She’d continue her march and think, in the darkest corners of her mind, that this was actually okay. She could suffer through the physical hardships and ignore the traumas late at night. Morraine would eventually be so far removed from home that her life would seem decent. It was better than death.

 

But there would come a day when she did reach the frontlines. If she survived the infection, the meager food, the exhaustion, the fights that broke out at the end of each day and the start of each morning… there would still come a time when she’d reach the actual fighting, and when she did everything would come to a head. Morraine would realize within that moment that there were only two possible outcomes:

 

She’d die. Simple as that. Though there’d be nothing simple about the death itself. Chances are Morraine would be crushed underfoot as the ogres plowed through the army—that’s if she was lucky. If she was unlikely she’d be hit with one of the ogres’ clubs, dying a slow, agonizing death of broken bones and internal bleeding. If the gods truly wished to punish her, Morraine would be eaten. She’d be lunch.

 

Or… she’d survive, though she’d never be whole again. One couldn’t see those creatures, witness so many deaths, and somehow come out of it intact. Rumplestiltskin understood.

 

He understood that he was no longer human, for the simple reason that he’d shied away from either of these paths. He hadn’t had the courage to face the ogres or his life after the war, so he’d tried to avoid both, crushing his own leg so that those monsters would never have the chance. For himself. For…

 

“Bae,” Rumplestiltskin whispered. He had done it for Bae… partly, perhaps even _mostly_ for Bae. Lady Belle’s words from the market suddenly came rushing back to him, the astounding proclamation that he wasn’t a coward. That he was, in fact, brave for raising Bae in this village as he did.

 

Was his choice to come back home… brave? Heroic even?

 

It seemed impossible—the truth that Rumplestiltskin had long lived with, what his neighbors had screamed at him from their stoops, was that he was a coward, through and through. Yet Lady Belle would not lie to him, Rumplestiltskin knew that as surely as he knew his own name. These two truths clashed within him. A paradox…

 

Could it possibly be both?

 

The possibility washed over Rumplestiltskin, a revelation he could only tentatively embrace. Still, the seed was there:

 

Perhaps he was a coward to the town and a hero to Bae. Perhaps he could be both.

 

What was he to himself then?

 

“Did you say something?”

 

Lady Belle turned, filthy and exhausted, but still glowing in Rumplestiltskin’s eyes. He mustered up a smile just for her.

 

“No, Lady Belle. Nothing important. Ah… please, you needn’t cook…”

 

Rumplestiltskin meant it (why should _she_ serve _him_?) but his comment came from a place of… unease. Lady Belle had cooked the rice easily enough, though while Rumplestiltskin had been lost in his own thoughts, she’d somehow managed to butcher the prized meat they’d been given. Not in the sense of professional butchering, more of a hack and slash… disaster.

 

Now she was tossing slabs into a too-hot pan, pulling them out again before they were fully cooked. Rumplestiltskin enjoyed his meat rare, but not _that_ rare.

 

“Really…” he tried.

 

“Don’t start this again,” Lady Belle groused. “We’ve had a hard day, the both of us, but someone has to cook and it might as well be me. You can help with the dishes if you’re so insistent on a fair division of labor. Once Bae—”

 

She stopped, having caught sight of Rumplestiltskin’s expression. He tried to smooth his features—at least duck his head—but it was far too late. Luckily, Lady Belle set down her fork with a self-deprecating smile.

 

“I’m doing this all wrong, aren’t I?” She asked.

 

“N-not all wrong…”

 

She snorted, causing Rumplestiltskin to jump and then smile a bit himself. This felt so… _natural_.

 

“The book over there,” she said, pointing by the fire. “Do you know what it is?”

 

Rumplestiltskin craned his neck. “The book you’ve been teaching Bae to read with.” The mere thought still filled him with pride.

 

“Yes, but do you know what it _is_? The title? It’s contents?”

 

“N-no… that I don’t.” He looked to the red tome, seemingly far more massive in his eye than it actually was. In truth Rumplestiltskin could decipher the flowing script about as well as he could pick up a sword and single handedly win them the war. Lady Belle seemed to read his hesitance on his features. Rumplestiltskin ducked his head in shame.

 

“It’s a cookbook,” she said kindly. “Well, not only. A manual for running a household. Here.” Lady Belle dusted her hands and snatched up the volume, holding it up for him to see. Her delicate finger traced the letters as she read them aloud. “ _Mistress Lina’s Book of Household Management.”_

Rumplestiltskin shook his head. He could hardly imagine what constituted a household. Apparently, one needed a whole book to tell you how to run one. He watched the pretty words shifting in the firelight and tried to match up their shapes with what Lady Belle had just said.

 

“You’re so smart,” he sighed.

 

“Really? I’ve felt quite dumb since landing here.” Lady Belle pursed her lips. “Rum. What I’m saying is that I’m about as good at cooking as you are at reading. It’s not an insult—certainly nothing to be ashamed of. We can only know the things we’re taught. And I,” she flipped through some of the many pages, “must teach myself to cook.”

 

She made it sound so simple. Logical even. Rumplestiltskin found himself smiling up at her. Why would a woman of Lady Belle’s standing need to cook? He didn’t know, mostly didn’t care, because she looked wonderful standing there, tongue out and locks falling into her eyes as she scanned the text rapidly.

 

Rumplestiltskin cleared his throat. “If you’d take advice from a lowly spinner?”

 

“Gladly.”

 

“Perhaps start by not letting the meat burn.”

 

“Bur—? Oh!”

Lady Belle rushed back to her pan where, indeed, the remaining strips of meat had blackened and she dumped them with those that were still nearly raw. Lady Belle hung her head exaggeratedly. It should have been like a douse of cold water, for Rumplestiltskin to learn that his fairy was quite fallible after all, but the revelation was simply… reassuring. After Morraine, it seemed impossible that such simple, domestic moments could continue, yet Lady Belle’s adorably frustrated expression said otherwise. She conjured hope, even in the darkest of times, even if she didn’t intend it.

 

“You can easily cook the first batch again,” Rumplestiltskin said. “And you could… scrape the charred ones a bit?”

 

Lady Belle groaned. “I’ve ruined it.”

 

“N-no!”

 

“This would have probably sold for a small fortune…”

 

Rumplestiltskin nearly smiled, thinking of the meat and the gold and the poison, knowing that the only true treasures in his home were the people he was blessed to share it with. Still, he managed to keep his expression appropriately grave for the situation.

 

“Truly, Lady Belle. It’s not as bad as you fear. H-here… let me help. This quality meat will taste well regardless of how it’s cooked, and Bae will eat anything, ah.” Rumplestiltskin blinked, turning towards the door. “He should be done by now.”

 

As if on cue, the cottage door blew open and what felt like half the snow came blowing in too. Much of the hard work they’d done that morning had been obliterated by harsh winds and a continuous—though light—snowfall. At first Rumplestiltskin thought that the door had gotten covered once more while Bae had been out with the sheep and that he’d spent that time digging his way back in. However, one look at his expression told a different story.

 

“Bae…” Rumplestiltskin whispered. “What’s wrong, son?”

 

Bae stood in a pile of snow mashed into greyish slime. Rumplestiltskin could see him shivering from across the room, his body curled in on itself protectively. He moved to approach, but before he could Lady Belle was already flying past, heaving the door closed and tossing a blanket around Bae’s shoulders.

 

“You’re freezing, look at you,” she said. “Bae?”

 

“Morraine’s really gone, isn’t she?”

 

The words came out, nearly inaudible. Lady Belle looked to him and Rumplestiltskin swallowed at the images that rose up in his mind—of blood and ogres and the vulnerability of one pretty young girl. It was with something perhaps resembling courage that he nodded his head and spoke the truth.

 

“Yes, Bae,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

 

Bae nodded, a quick, sharp thing that seemed to rock his whole body. When he straightened though his eyes were wiser than Rumplestiltskin could have ever imagined. He let out a breath and released something with it.

 

“I saw her parents,” Bae said. “Her mom… her mom was still out in the snow. They couldn’t get her in. She wouldn’t go. And—and—her dad… he’s just _giving_ stuff away.” Bae raised a trembling hand and Rumplestiltskin saw another dress clutched between his fingers. “He looked so sad, Papa. He wasn’t crying or anything but, he just kept pushing Morraine’s things at us. I… I don’t think he could look at them anymore.” The hand dropped. Then it rose again, arching towards Lady Belle. “He said you should have it. If Morraine can’t. I think you should have it too.”

 

They were words embedded with a great deal of trust and Lady Belle seemed to realize it. She took the dress with all the solemnity that she’d bestowed upon Milah’s gloves.

 

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

 

Rumplestiltskin took a step forward. “Bae? Did he give you something too?”

 

The question was mostly intuitive, but as soon as he’d said it Rumplestiltskin noticed the movement around Bae’s chest. He wasn’t hunched in on himself in emotional pain, at least not completely. He was protecting something.

 

Bae’s cloak fell away and from the top of his shirt a kitten’s head appeared. It was shivering with cold, hunger too probably, but for all that its beauty was undeniable. Reddish-gold fur with sapphire eyes… Rumplestiltskin recognized the little creature as Morraine’s. She’d purchased it at market just a few weeks ago, an unexpected generosity from her mother. He’d seen Bae and Morraine cooing over her numerous times since.

 

Bae held the tiny kitten up for them to see. It gave the tinniest meow… a single sign of life.

 

There wasn’t a question about whether they’d keep her.

 

“Ria,” Lady Belle murmured.

 

“Hmm? No. Who’s Ria?” Bae was already moving with more confidence, snatching up the charred pieces of meet and hand-feeding them to the hungry kitten.

 

“No one…”

 

A lie from Lady Belle? Ria certainly didn’t seem like no one. Lady Belle looked rather pale.

 

“Are you okay?” Rumplestiltskin asked.

 

“Yes… yes of course. What a day. Why don’t we eat? What’s edible at least.”

 

The false cheer did help, in its way. Rumplestiltskin took his seat again, eagerly beckoning Bae to him. He forwent the other chair and crawled straight into his Papa’s lap, seeking comfort there as surely as the kitten sought comfort against his own chest. Lady Belle sat elegantly across from them, passing the food, working up a smile.

 

“She has a good appetite,” she said, watching the kitten devour more meat. “Does she have a name then?”

 

Bae nodded. The kitten chomped down on his fingers in its attempt to get at the food. His grimace of pain blossomed into a small smile of his own.

 

“Yeah. Morraine named her Dinah.”

 

 

 


	14. The Tale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of different reactions to the last chapter! Lots of people seemingly wanting different things. I can only hope you all continue to enjoy this as we edge closer to the end *does little happy dance* :)

 

Belle couldn’t stop staring at the kitten.

 

Bad enough that she was quite literally stuck in the past, now she needed reminders of her childhood as well? Astounding what memory could suddenly conjure up when it wanted to. She’d always remembered what had happened to Ria quite clearly—a child didn’t just forget seeing that kind of pain, their first understanding that being alive didn’t mean _living_. Yet she’d entirely forgotten what the little kitten had looked like, it’s appearance obliterated by the understanding of a snapped back and mangled legs.

 

Except now Belle did remember… Ria looked exactly like Dinah.

 

She pressed a hand to her forehead.

 

“Lady Belle?”

 

Rum and Bae both looked at her with concern. Dinah did too. Belle did her best to straighten out her features, despite the sudden spike of adrenaline that had ripped through her—pain pouring through not her skull, but through her very memories. Belle had the unmistakable sense that something had suddenly slotted into place.

 

_Why was she here?_

 

“I’m fine,” she said, belatedly realizing that they were still waiting for an answer. “Really. Just the day catching up with me, that’s all.”

 

“You should rest,” Rum said. He immediately ducked his head as if ashamed to have told her what to do. Bae nodded vigorously though.

 

“You can take my bed tonight, Belle. I don’t mind sleeping by the fire.”

 

Rum started. “A-absolutely not. You’ll take my bed, please—”

 

Belle waved her hand. “Oh both of you hush. I’m not taking either of your beds, end of discussion. Besides, I can’t sleep just yet.” She did her best to smile at Bae, ignoring the kitten rubbing up against his chin. “Didn’t I promise to teach you more letters tonight?”

 

It took a moment. The day’s events had cast a shadow on them all and Bae’s own tired mind was tripping to catch up. When it did though, his face positively glowed with delight.

 

“Really?” he cried, sending his fork flying. Dinah screeched in surprise and bolted for the space between the fireplace and stove.

 

“Absolutely. We must always keep our word.”

 

“An excellent lesson,” Rum murmured and pressed a kiss into Bae’s hair. Belle’s body felt like a warm little pool at the image. It helped to combat the uneasy sense of completion she’d felt at Dinah’s arrival.

 

No doubt this was somehow connected to Time’s manipulation. Damn him.

 

“I’ll worry about him later…” she muttered.

 

“Lady Belle? Did you say something?”

 

“Nothing of importance.”

 

Belle stood with a small groan, enjoying the rather flabbergast look Rum developed as she raised her hands above her head, stretching, her body arching towards him. Bae was luckily absorbed in the rest of his food.

 

“Dishes can wait,” she announced. “Tonight is a night of rest and leisure. Unless you think reading is too much work?”

 

“Nuh-uh!” Bae garbled. He wiped his mouth and hopped down from Rum’s lap, running off to fetch his tools. Alone for just a moment, Rum glanced up with an expression overflowing with gratitude.

 

“Thank you,” he said.

 

“For what?”

 

“This will help.”

 

“Got it!” Bae came tearing back in, nearly launching himself at _Mistress Lina’s Book of Household Management._ “Can we start now, Belle? Can we?”

 

She saw it then, what Rum meant. The joy of words and stories helped sooth numerous wounds, including the deep ones caused by lost friends, and in no-one was such medicine so potent as in the young. It was ultimately a superficial kind of healing, but the best that Belle could provide. She looked to Bae vibrating on the floor, charcoal in hand, a book in his lap, and understood Rum’s gratitude for just a moment.

 

She curtsied. “If my Lord commands it.”

 

Bae laughed.

 

“Really now…” Rum said. From the corner of her eye Belle saw him blushing all along his cheekbones.

 

“You’ll join us too, won’t you, Papa?”

 

“Ah… I’m not sure… I…” Rum stopped, turning to Belle with eyes wide with fright. Or shame?

 

“I don’t think I’d be very good at learning such things…”

 

“Nonsense,” Belle snorted. “Anyone can read provided they have a willingness to learn—and a halfway decent teacher.” She grinned. “Besides, the more you learn the more you’ll be able to help Bae when—”

 

When she was gone. That feeling rocked Belle again, literally shifting her weight backwards, poised perfectly between remaining in her current state or falling backwards. It was a feeling of completeness, circularity… but now also inevitability. Words held truth. She knew that much well. Regardless of what kind of magic was at play here, Belle was all too aware that these words in particular held more truth than she was willing to deal with. She would leave.

 

She’d leave soon.

 

“—when you need help,” she finished lamely. Her boys looked away. They’d already heard the truth in her words too.

 

“C’mon,” Belle insisted. “Let’s make ourselves comfortable.”

They did just that, leaving the dishes for another time. Bae opened up a chest to reveal an impressive collection of firewood, stoking the blaze while Belle collected all the blankets and pillows she could find, creating a cozy little nest for them on the floor. Rum wandered back over to the bed. At first she thought he was retrieving that wretched poison for some reason, but when he hobbled back he had the material he’d purchased at the market, the remains of her dress, and a small sewing kit. Belle saw him hesitate for a moment, then he determinedly pulled out the spool of gold. She smiled. It was his to do with as he willed.

Bae tilted his head curiously.

“Where’d you get that, Papa?”

“Ah…”

Belle knew she shouldn’t laugh, particularly when she was the cause of his distress. She watched Rum dither a moment: moving to hide the gold behind his back, realizing how foolish that was, pulling it back and covering as much of it with his hands as he could, eyes darting between the two of them. Bae must not have realized what his Papa possessed because he still just gazed at the spool, absently picking a splinter out of his palm. Surely there’d be more of an uproar if he realized it was _gold_.

Rum must have realized the same.

“Just thread, son,” he said, extending it before snapping it back just as fast. “Lady Belle… ah, she gave it to me. Kind of her, yes?”

“Yeah!” Bae cheered. “It’s beautiful! Did you bring it from home, Belle?”

Belle smiled. “I did indeed. Admittedly it’s pretty rare, but who better than your Papa to make something fitting with it, hmm?”

Bae nodded, satisfied, and continued with his work—but not before he cast a proud look at his father, making him blush. Belle caught Rum’s eye for just a moment, shrugging minutely. They weren’t _truly_ lies. It was thread (of a sort…), she had given it to Rum, had brought it from home (sort of), and yes, she did believe he was the best to work with it. Besides, Bae would find out its true worth eventually. Either Rum would sell it when she was gone or else keep it for sentimental reasons—either of which would result in an explanation in his own time.

Time. For just a moment Belle allowed herself—somewhat narcissistically—to imagine that Rum kept the shirt. Would she return to her own time then, clean some disused room of Rumple’s castle and find a shirt there, persevered through the years by magic?

A fanciful wish no doubt. Still, it was comforting in its way.

“Let me help,” Belle sighed and took some of the wood from Bae.

Not that her thoughts remained untroubled for long. The entire time they worked Belle had the distinct sense that they were being watched. She turned her head subtly while spreading out a blanket, spotting a pair of eyes peering out from the crevice between stove and fireplace. With another sigh, Belle slowly crouched and held out a hand.

“Psss, psss, psss,” she whispered, trying to entice Dinah out. “C’mon, puss. I won’t harm you. It’s not your fault you’re trapped in this mess with me.”

“What mess?” Bae asked, dumping more wood next to their nest.

“Forced to live with you two of course.”

Belle gave an exaggerated yelp as Bae tackled her around the neck, falling backwards onto the pillows and dragging him along with her. The wrestled a moment, lightly, Bae still mindful of her healing injuries and her of his. It was a relief though, to dispel some of the day’s—this time’s—sorrow through laughter, as forced as it may have been. Belle saw Rum pull up a chair and let out a tiny chuckle of his own. That was a miracle in and of itself. When she’d first arrived he would have never been comfortable with their roughhousing, thinking it improper or some such nonsense. Now Rum laughed, small as it was, and Belle felt a pang at the thought of leaving this.

She’d never really heard Rumplestiltskin laugh before. Cackle, yes. Titter and giggle, but never laugh. It was joyous to hear, even moreso because of how unexpected it was. He realized what had left his mouth a second later and Belle was sorry to see his head duck in embarrassment. She propped herself up on one elbow, rolling Bae to the side, and stared until he looked at her.

“That was nice,” Belle said softly.

Bae started messing up all her hard work, collecting the blankets for himself. “What was nice?”

“Nothing, son,” Rumplestiltskin muttered. His cheeks were still aflame.

Belle decided to give him an out. “Will you be starting that tonight then?” She gestured to the shirt.

On the one hand it seemed obvious that he would—what with every material in place—on the other hand, Rum only ran the gold gently between his fingers, flicking his gaze between it and Belle’s eyes. Finally, he gave a small shrug.

“Lady Belle… you must understand… this is still a miraculous thing just to hold it in my hand, let alone stitch with…” He trailed off, retuning to running the thread between thumb and forefinger.

“Whatever you stitch will be perfect,” Bell proclaimed. She didn’t doubt it either. Even if Rum had no skill at all (which she knew to be a blatant untruth) she had fully given him that with the expectation that it was _his_. To hide away, ponder, sell, or yes, stitch into something that others would recognize as beautiful. It wasn’t just that Belle felt she owed them a monetary debt for taking her in, it just felt fitting to come full circle like this: Rumplestiltskin taught her to spin with magic, Belle gave some of that spun gold back to him, perhaps when he needed it most. The action made her feel… complete.

What had Time said? Smoothing things over?

“It will be perfect,” she repeated, jerking a thumb at Bae’s agreeable nods. “Now, pick up your needle as I run through this again. Pay attention.”

It was with a shy smile that Rum did just that. The gold glinted in the firelight as he cocked his ear towards her and rested his eyes on the silken material.

Belle was just about to crack open their book when a tiny meow startled her. Dinah crawled back out, sniffing at Belle and Bae sitting close together. Still on her haunches, she pulled herself up to Belle’s knee and dug her claws into the material there. Luckily Morraine’s dress was of good sturdy stock and Belle barely felt the wound. Still, she raised an eyebrow at the kitten.

“Oh, do you like me then?”

“Of course she likes you,” Bae said, scooping Dinah up. “Don’t you like her?”

Belle felt distinctly as if she didn’t have a say in the matter, but Bae didn’t need to know that. She merely inclined her head ambiguously and picked up _Mistress Lina’s Book of Household Management._

“Now, we went through the letters of your name, but there’s a lot more to learn. Explain ‘A,’ ‘B,’ and ‘E’ to your Papa…”

The next few hours passed in as companionable a mood as Belle had ever experienced. She went through the entire alphabet, giving well-known examples for each sound (“‘s’ as in ‘silver,’ ‘k’ as in ‘kitten’ – the same sort of sound as…?” “C!”) and before long she was throwing in the occasional compound to challenge Bae. (“Sh-sh- _sh_ eep.”) When it became clear that he was growing tired of sounding out the letters, Belle gave Bae his charcoal and directed him to the back of the book once more—his newly learned handwriting cramped and shaky to conserve as much space as possible. Bae wrote with a single-minded intensity.

Belle didn’t know what it was exactly. Part of it was no doubt Morraine, his mind needing to think about something other than the tragedy and reading proved the perfect distraction. Perhaps Bae had a fire to better himself… perhaps he just had an instinctual love of reading, like her. All Belle knew for sure was that he picked up the lessons with quick, confident ease. She had no delusions that he’d be reading fluently anytime soon, but if he retained the basics then he already had the foundation for teaching himself the rest. Bae was smart enough to do it.

Belle was certainly under no illusions that she’d be around to keep teaching him.

Despite the camaraderie, the uneasiness she’d developed remained. Despite obviously being attached to Bae, Dinah had hardly left Belle’s side, digging her claws into various parts of her dress and then resolutely staying there, sometimes kneading the material, often just staring at her. Whatever hesitance Dinah had was long gone. Belle took to subtly shifting her weight as she read to Bae, scooting this way or that, and each time Dinah moved with her. Belle made to stand at one point and the kitten expressed her displeasure vocally, letting out a yowl that had Belle smacking her butt back on the floor fast.

 

“She likes you,” Bae had said, sounding relieved. Belle didn’t have the energy or the heart to explain her feeling that this somehow went far beyond ‘like.’

 

How the hell was a cat connected to Time? And what was Belle supposed to do about it?

 

Rum, for his part, appeared far more content. Everyone seemed to be leaving reservations behind this night, for as soon as he’d forced himself to begin his project it looked as if he was unable to stop. His movements, stiff and unsure at first, melted into a graceful confidence the longer their night wore on. Belle saw from the corner of her eye Rum continually running the gold through his fingers, picking up coarser thread and shears to shape it into a garment, returning to the gold, stitching now in the front where a pattern began to emerge. At one point Belle did stand (calm yourself, Dinah) in order to show Rum the letters they were discussing and as she did she caught a glimpse of the emerging design. They were gold flowers, roses by the looks of them, weaving along the collar of the shirt, down the sides and up both sleeves. Rum outlined the work astoundingly fast, soon hiding behind a curtain of hair as he began adding details. Belle spotted a figure in the background of the image (a fairy?) but before she could look closer her hand moved on its own accord, sweeping Rum’s hair away so that she could see his eyes instead. He startled at the touch, crinkling the shirt and pulling it close to his chest. Belle snatched her own hand back in embarrassment.

 

“I just wanted...” she started, then stopped due to a dry throat. “That is…”

 

“It’s fine,” Rum squeaked. “You…?” he pointed to the book.

 

Belle breathed out in relief. “Yes,” and she set about showing him the alphabet he’d only heard verbally up until now, careful that she didn’t sit too close or let her gaze linger too long.

 

This was how they passed the night. Nearly all of it, for none of them wanted to sleep after such a day, sure that nightmares lurked near. Belle and Rum didn’t chide Bae for staying up far past his bedtime, even when his yawns interrupted each word he tried sounding out and his hands were too sluggish to write. Rum didn’t try to convince Belle to take his bed again. Bae didn’t remind his Papa to rest. The three of them remained exactly as they were, unwilling to break the small measure of peace they’d managed to find.

 

Only Dinah slept. She curled up in one of the blankets, her tiny body pressed between Belle’s knee and Bae’s. She slept long and peacefully, no doubt because she was the only one in the group with nothing to hide—either from others or themselves.

 

Belle kept her own council, if only out of shame. It didn’t escape her notice that her arrival had brought great change to this little town and only a small portion of it may have been good. Perhaps Morraine would have still been taken this day even if Belle had never arrived. She couldn’t know either way. All she did know was that she’d sat at Rum’s wheel with hardly a care for the consequences, spinning gold in an attempt to get him to trust her, perhaps even get him to like her. Selfless on the surface—giving a poor spinner gold— but Belle had happily ignored the one fundamental rule:

 

All magic comes with a price.

 

Was this her price then? Seeing Morraine carted away by the former Dark One, just so Rum could stitch by firelight?

 

Still… Belle couldn’t deny that it was a kind sight on her eyes. There was an ache in her lower belly from Morraine’s absence, an anxious ball in the top of her throat from Dinah’s arrival, and a general tension throughout her body as she wondered where, when, and how she’d possibly return home. Rum’s hunched form was a soothing balm to all of that.

 

His stitching stilled.

 

“You’re… staring, Lady Belle.”

 

Had she been? Probably. Belle smiled and gestured to Bae.

 

“Look who finally lost the battle.”

 

Bae was curled into a ball much like Dinah was, the two of them breathing in synch. He’d drifted off sometime between learning the words ‘the’ and ‘that,’ head drifting closer to the ground until his body had just given up completely, flopping onto the nearest pillow. With gentle hands Belle gathered up a blanket and laid it over the three of them. She carefully stretched her toes towards the fire.

 

“Thank you.” She heard.

 

“Don’t thank me, Rum.” Belle couldn’t see him now, but she could hear him putting his work away, the soft whoosh of him folding fabric. She arched her feet and closed her eyes.

 

“You realize I’m not supposed to be here, right?” She said. “You’ve figured that out. Perhaps you’ve figured out far more than I’ve been able to say. But the point is I’m out of place here, Rum. I’m _wrong_.”

 

There was silence.

“…You’re never wrong to me.”

“No?”

“Never. You saved Bae. You… you’re teaching us to _read_. And the market… what you said there…” Rum’s voice haltered a moment. “None of that could ever be wrong, Lady Belle. And—and—I don’t think I appreciate you saying that it is.”

Belle chuckled, tilting her head back to get a look at him. “Look at you then, talking back to me. About time I’d say.”

“If it pleases you.”

“Oh stop that.”

They let the warmth spread between them. Sometimes Belle thought that was all her life here was, bouncing between extreme emotions, never knowing which was likely to take hold next: the contentment of eating sweets on their way home, the terror of discovering a new Dark One, then joy at teaching her boys to read, fear that she’d somehow caused Morraine’s capture, this simple moment with Rum… and then just as fast it too disappeared, replaced with a jolt of anxiety as Dinah stretched. With a sigh Belle ran her hand down the kitten’s back, trying to calm her.

“I will have to leave,” she admitted.

“… I know.”

“Soon.”

Rum puffed out a shaky breath. “You’re sure?”

“Yes. Though not in any way I can explain.” Belle’s hands tightened in Dinah’s fur. “It’s this damned cat.”

“ _Dinah?_ ” She could practically hear Rum blink.

“Ria,” Belle countered and then sighed again because of course that made no sense to Rum.

She turned again, careful not to disturb Bae, and settled with her knees to her chin, her arms wrapped around the rest of her. Rum made his way to the floor too, equally careful. Belle smile at the way he continually looked between her and Bae, as if fearful that something as simple as him moving might perturb them. She shook her head as Rum settled with a sigh against the chair’s legs, stretching his own bad leg out to knead at the muscles.

“Does it hurt you?” she asked softly. “I’m sorry. The cold couldn’t have done it much good…”

For a moment Belle thought Rum would speak. He opened his mouth before closing it again just as fast. After another second he shook is head, though whether as an answer or a refusal she couldn’t say.

“Ria?” he prompted and Belle let it go.

“Ria,” she echoed. “Ria was… well. Have you ever had something—experienced something—that seemed so simple at the time? Innocent even? Yet later you realize that it was… more?”

Rum drew his good leg up to his chest, mimicking Belle’s pose. “Like gloves,” he said.

“Gloves?”

“Milah.” He gestured to, yes, the gloves on Belle’s hands, donned halfway into their reading to ward off the chill. The wool was uncomfortable against her healing skin without the bandages acting as a barrier.

Rum shrugged, somewhat sadly. “I didn’t think much of keeping them at the time. I… I knew she wasn’t coming back.” He looked to Bae. “Could have given them to someone else. Morraine mayhap.” Rum closed his eyes. “I didn’t though. Kept telling myself I was saving them for Bae, when he grew big enough to use ‘em, but I couldn’t. Just couldn’t, Lady Belle. There was no reason for keeping a reminder, but I put them away and tired not to think too much on it until now… now when I was able to give them to you.” Rum shrugged again. “More important than what you thought. Is that what you mean?”

“Yes, in many ways…” Belle gestured to Dinah, then scrubbed a hand over her eyes. “Gods. It sounds so foolish when I think of saying it aloud. It’s just that there was another kitten, Ria, back when I was a girl. She died after being run over by a cart. Nothing unusual of course, strays and pets were lost all the time, particularly at war.”

Belle’s eyes jumped up. That last bit hadn’t escaped Rum’s notice. He knew she was from another time and certainly there were only so many creatures and kingdoms that one could wage war on… still, if he wanted to ask about the ogres his face didn’t show it. Instead they both let the opportunity pass by, Rum silently letting her keep her secrets. Belle smiled.

“Lots were lost,” she continued, “but Ria stuck with me. Her owner, a little girl roughly my age then, she did everything she could to keep Ria alive and ended up torturing the poor thing for weeks. Harm done unintentionally. It’s a cruel lesson, Rum. Have I harmed this village by coming here? You? Morraine? Certainly harm has been done _to_ me, though it was undoubtedly intentional.” With an angry growl Belle buried her face in her hands. She pulled back only long enough to point at Dinah again. “She looks _exactly_ like Ria.”

It was dark where she hid her head. Rum’s voice seeped through.

“Lots of kittens look alike,” he murmured.

“Yes.”

“A coincidence, surely.”

“When Time and magic are involved? Perhaps. I wouldn’t stake anything of import on it though.”

“No… perhaps not…”

Belle was just resigning herself to this position—her face warm, her back hot from the fire, the rest of her bracingly cool—when the lightest touch landed against her shoulder. It was like something possessing wings had alighted there, just long enough for Belle to process its existence before it fluttered away. Precious and delicate and rare. She lifted her head to find Rum drawing back his hand.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

For what? Touching her? Failing? Her own emotions? Everything it seemed. The things Rum could control as well as the things he couldn’t. For all the ways she chastised him for such thoughts, Belle understood them well.

“Me too,” she said and breached the distance to take his hand.

They sat, linked and breathing in synch.

“Can I tell you a story?” Rum asked.

“A story?”

“Yes. Like the one you gave to me and Bae. Though…” he let out a shaky laugh. “I fear it doesn’t have a happy ending as yours did. Nor does it have a hero…”

Belle had a pretty good idea of what kind of story Rum wanted to tell. She gave his hand a squeeze. “I’d be honored to hear whatever story you’re willing to give me, Rum. Though may I ask why? Why now?”

He was already nodding, his fingers intertwining with hers, casting occasional glances over as if he couldn’t believe that he truly held a part of her—something as simple and magnificent as a hand. Rum gave a tentative squeeze back.

“You deserve to know,” he said. “Lost here, confronting the Dark One as you did… you deserve the whole story. And if you must leave— _gods_ , I know you must, o-of course you do, and even if you didn’t why would you want…?”

“To stay?” Belle edged forward, reaching out to take his other hand. “I would. I _would_ , Rum. If it were up to me, if I learned here and now that there was no going back, then yes, I would stay.”

He stared at her in wonder. Belle thought she saw tear tracks carving paths down his cheeks, though that may have just been a trick of the fire.

“Tell your story.”

She watched Rum draw in a deep breath.

“ _Once upon a time…”_

Belle snorted, ducking her head to hide her laugh.

“Gods, _sorry_. I’m not laughing at you, I swear it—”

“It’s how the best stories begin,” Rum insisted, echoing her words from before. “Now, are you going to interrupt me again?” He gave her the tinniest, most tentative smile. _Teasing_ her.

Belle shook her head. “Never.”

“Good. Okay then. Thank you. Ah… _Once upon a time…_ yes, that’s right… _Once upon a time two people lived in a cottage together: a man and a woman._

_The woman was beautiful, at least by the village’s standards. Still, she wasn’t so beautiful that she expected it to get her anywhere in life. She’d grown up a farmer’s daughter and the expectation was that she’d become a farmer’s wife. This… wasn’t a bad thing. Not at first anyway. There was honor in it, little as it might seem to others, and it would provide her with a roof, meat, and eventually a child. There were women who could expect far less from life._

_There weren’t many eligible men in her village, or in the neighboring village either. Crops had been hard the last few seasons and the war had steadily picked up, taking most of the able-bodied men with it. The woman’s choices were poor. She could have married a foreigner—if he’d have her—but what good would that do her family? The bread maker was available, but he’d already lost a wife and child. That wasn’t something she was willing to intrude on. The blacksmith’s son was still too young, the farmer next door had passed from sickness…_

_In the end, the woman and her father settled on the town spinner._

_He wasn’t… bad. There were worse men, certainly. He had no family of his own, for his father… well. His father had left. The man grew up with two spinsters who had passed many years prior to all this. He was alone._

_At least his trade was decent. Spinning was a skill needed and available to him all year round. In a show of good faith the man stripped his best sheep, spun as fine a thread as he was able, dyed it with berries, and presented it to the woman in her home. Her father was satisfied, she… agreed. That was it. There was no true passion within the courtship. She simply agreed._

_That was more than enough for the spinner though. He was timid and weak, not known for his looks, nor his intellect outside of the wheel. Taking the woman’s hand was the spinner’s greatest achievement up until then and if anyone had told him, even a week before, that he would succeed in marrying the woman with raven hair and a sharp tongue, he would have laughed. She was far too good for him._

_The problem was, the woman thought so too._

_Their marriage was a simple one. She took the ribbon her mother had worn—faded from periwinkle blue to a dusty gray—and her father bound their hands before the town members with time available to stand and watch. The only one who blessed them was an old woman, capable of magic, who looked the spinner straight in the eye and told him to have_ courage _. He never imagined that he’d need to strive for it quite so soon._

_A mere three days after their binding the woman’s father took a kick to the head, courtesy of a darting dog and a spooked horse. He lay raving for a time before suddenly passing, his back bent in pain and his mouth agape. The spinner couldn’t pull his new wife away from the body, at least not until it began to smell of ripe game. They buried him in the hardening ground, they moved until the house he’d died in. The woman grew colder day by day._

_Fate is often cruel in that manner. The spinner would never know if he and the woman could have been… perhaps not happy, but at least satisfied together. They weren’t given the chance because her father’s death cast a shadow on the marriage and grief is anything but fair. Her pain quickly morphed into anger and anger turned to blame—blame for their dwindling food, their sorry social life… his inability to pleasure her, both in bed and out._

_They hadn’t consecrated their marriage. The spinner had certainly wanted to, though he’d never been with a woman, had hardly spent time with them beyond his guardians’ presence, and he was nervous… not just nervous but a jittering, apologetic mess. The woman had no need for such a man. She rejected him and the man took her decree with a bow of his head._

_She said she deserved better._

_He agreed._

_They settled into a routine then, of work and quiet and little affection, if any. During this period the spinner thought a great deal about courage, but thoughts didn’t help him approach his wife in the confidant manner she craved and they certainly didn’t help him challenge the status of their relationship as a whole. They did nothing for him, except perhaps to deepen the depression. Instead of acting he turned to his wheel. It helped him to forget._

_Perhaps they would have continued this way until their deaths. They’d never know because less than a year into their marriage a summons came, from the Duke himself, covered in a curling script that neither of them could read. It didn’t matter though, man and woman alike recognized the seal at the very top—a summons to war. This was back when the Duke still called his subjects to arms, rather than sending dark sorcerers to drag them away. That scroll of paper, one of the few the man had ever set eyes on, appeared to be the saving grace of both his marriage and his spirit._ This _was his redemption._

_The woman agreed. She could learn to love a soldier, a man brave enough to face the ogres head on. If he returned from such a trial than she’d be proud to stand by his side. If he didn’t… well, better to die an honorable death than live a life of cowardice, surely?_

_For a blissful week this summons brought the man and the woman together, in a way that their marriage had failed to do. With the prospect of his heroism on the horizon, the woman looked at him in new light and she allowed things she’d previously rejected, chief among them her body. Knowing that he left so soon helped her develop something resembling patience and that night they lay together for the first and only time._

_It was a fumbling affair, quick and messy under a cloud of darkness. The man had no knowledge of how to please her and when he pulled out she quickly closed her legs, indicating that he should simply return to his straw bed on the floor beside her. Some of that ‘love’ was already gone._

_They didn’t speak of their intimacy, save for his breathy, repeated, “Sorry”s throughout. He slept fitfully that night and woke with the dawn, leaving with the other troops and dreaming of a better return. The woman leaned against the doorframe as the man left her. She didn’t wave him off._

_Thus, the man went to war. There’s… little to say here. It was brutal, horrible, and everything that was needed to confirm that he was a coward. The man couldn’t turn to society for fear of his own comrades. He couldn’t look to nature for fear of what lay in the woods. There were ogres to the front of him and an expectant wife at his back._

_Expectant in more ways than one it turned out. A currier brought the man a letter two months into his service, one his general gleefully read to the entire company: his wife was pregnant with a boy—if the village witch had any skills left to her name. Be sure to make it back in one piece or, barring that, at least have the decency to die with honor. His son deserved that much at least._

_The man agreed. Wholeheartedly, with every fiber of his being. A child. A_ son _. He’d never pictured himself as a father, if only because the idea of guiding another seemed quite impossible when he felt so adrift himself, but now that such a decision was out of his hands the man embraced the notion with fervor. He could do right by his boy._ Somehow _. He’d love him in a way his own father never had._

_And perhaps this child would also spark love between man and wife._

_For another season the man threw himself into the labor with as much passion as he had within him. He worked to master the spear—getting up each time his fellow soldiers knocked him down—and listened attentively to strategies he never quite understood. He put his skills to good use and patched up the clothing around camp, even learning how to stitch leather for some light armor (immediately appropriated by the higher-ups). All the while they dragged themselves closer and closer to the front lines… closer to the ogres._

_The man had never seen one of course. There were no books in his village with such illustrations and the stories that came back from the battlefield were highly exaggerated, even he realized that. Thirty feet high and twice as thick as any tree? That was a description for a fairy tale. Surely the real thing was much more manageable._

_At least, that’s what he told himself. As the days grew colder and the soldiers began to hear distant cries before them, the man passed the nights with visions of… not glory (he’d never be one for glory), but success. He dreamed of ogres not much taller than his own frame, plodding and slow enough that even he had a chance at stabbing them. The man forged a vision of returning home to a wife and son, commendations in one hand and an ogre’s head in the other._

_Dreams indeed. The man conveniently forgot the misery he experienced during the day, or that he’d_ never _seen a foot-soldier return. Denial is a powerful drug._

_Until it wears off, that is._

_The night before battle—a mere mile from where ogres were cutting down men just like him. Whatever visions he’d built up were shattered in those early morning hours. The man could hear the ogres (roars that traveled across acres, a testament to their size), could feel the vibrations of charges through the earth, could smell their rancid stench. He stood rooted beside a wagon for hours, unable to process what lay before him. The man understood in that moment that he’d deluded himself terribly. There was no loving wife waiting at home, no redemption, no courage within him. The man only had one thing of value in his life._

_His son. Still unborn._

_A son who could still enter this world without a father._

_It was a thought more horrifying than the ogres… and far more scary. Numbly, the man reached out for something—help?—and found a mallet leaning up against the wagon. His months of training and marching had strengthened him considerably. His body knew what to do without him consciously deciding to do it._

_He took the mallet and swung it as hard as he was able into the side of his knee. As he collapsed, shrieking through the pain, all the man saw was what his son’s face might look like someday._

_They sent him home. He was one of the few. Everyone else either stayed, frozen in fright, or made a break for the woods and never returned. His commanding officers provided him with no comforts for the weeks’ trek back. His comrades did not see him off. Instead they whispered behind his back, then directly to his face, shoving him into the mud so that his knee was never fully allowed to heal. When they finally crossed that last mile the man was left to start his hobble back—it took him twice as long._

_By the time he reached his village the whispers had already taken up residence._

_His son was there too though, born by the witch’s hand… and neglected by his mother. The man held his child in the same breathe that his wife screamed that she was through. Idiot. Simpleton._ Coward _. He cradled his son as she chose the tavern over him and t-then… then s-she… another_ man _—_

“That’s enough,” Belle cooed. She’d moved their linked hands up against Rum’s chest, practically sitting in his lap as she attempted to comfort him. He’d ended the story with a sudden rush of tears, his breaths stuttering harshly as he tried not to make any noise. She carded their fingers over his cheeks and he pressed himself against her.

“It’s okay, Rum. You’re okay.”

“Bae thinks she’s _dead_. I couldn’t… Lady Belle, I couldn’t admit…”

“I know. C’mon. C’mon, Rum. You’ll wake him.”

Belle pulled him closer, letting Rum muffle his voice against her chest. She dropped kisses into his hair and pressed her palms deeply into his back. She’d known the story already. Not the plot, but Belle had known the characters and that was more than enough to work out the moral. Rum had been scared, for him _and_ for Bae. That wasn’t cowardice. It was love.

Belle told him as much, speaking in soft whispers so they wouldn’t wake the very boy they were discussing. Bae continued to sleep deeply even as Rum ceased his tears, pressing trembling hands to either side of Belle’s face so that he could steady her, look to her and press a kiss against her forehead. She helped him rise after that, Belle carrying Bae to his bed as Rum stumbled drunkenly towards his own. They were both too emotionally drained for embarrassment and already Belle missed the press of Rum’s hand against hers. When she saw him deliberately move to the far side of his bed, Belle crawled in to fill up the space. In sleep they drew comfort.

The only one disturbed by these events was Dinah. She awoke, stretching luxuriously, and as she did her tiny paws caught the edge of _Mistress Lina’s Book of Household Management,_ peeling back one of the pages… setting something free.

For, out from the cookbook’s middle sprung a bean. Tiny and round, it rolled a moment before coming to a stop in front of the kitten’s nose.

Dinah didn’t notice. She’d already curled back up and had fallen asleep.


	15. The Escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So close to finishing! Things pick up a bit in this chapter. Prepare yourselves... :p

Rumplestiltskin awoke to another body pressed against his own. Legs intertwined, a face buried against the back of his neck… his mind was heavy with sleep and though his thoughts—what few thoughts he had—insisted that Bae must have crawled into his bed during the night, there was a faint, fleeting observation that his son’s body was not quite this large.

Rumplestiltskin ignored it. Or rather, he instinctually fell back into that murky state between sleep and wakefulness, where there was nothing to torment him—nothing by the name of Morraine, nothing resembling confessions or cowardice. There was only warmth here. Why ever would Rumplestiltskin let his thoughts intrude on that?

With a heavy sigh he rolled, just a moment in the cold air before he buried himself in the body again, this time in its arms, with the blankets at his back creating a perfect cocoon. His limbs melted and Rumplestiltskin was very nearly purring when he finally opened his eyes a slit.

His first thought was that Bae’s cheeks had filled out a great deal.

His second was that this wasn’t Bae.

With a shriek of surprise Rumplestiltskin kicked out, sending—oh _gods_ —Lady Belle tumbling to the floor. His response sent of jolt of pain through his leg and Rumplestiltskin clutched at his knee, forming a tiny ball of misery and mortification even as Lady Belle sprang to her feet, groping as if for a weapon. Bae’s head popped down from his loft and Dinah let out a yowl, skittering across the table. Lady Belle finally seemed to get her bearings.

“Oh,” she murmured. “Rum. … good morning. Nightmare?”

It was a better excuse than he could have hoped for—or deserved. Rumplestiltskin nodded, feeling only a slight pang at lying to her, and eased over as Bae dropped to land on the bed, his hand automatically moving to massage his Papa’s leg. Rumplestiltskin sat back with a groan.

He vaguely remembered confessing to Lady Belle last night… then inviting her to bed— _no!_ Gods. Not _inviting her to bed._ The mere thought sent Rum’s cheeks aflame. The truth was far more innocent. Assuredly. They’d been exhausted and grieving and woozy on too many admissions and he’d simply… lain down, with her. And they’d slept. Certainly anyone of logic and reason could understand that?

His own justifications were feeble though and they didn’t erase the feeling of Lady Belle tucked up against him. Rumplestiltskin felt his blush spreading down to his neck. Lady Belle noticed—over Bae’s head she grinned and he realized with a start that she hadn’t bought her own “nightmare” suggestion. Had she known the whole time? Had she been _awake_? It wasn’t clear, and the possibilities drew another groan from Rumplestiltskin.

“It’s okay, Papa,” Bae said innocently. “I had a nightmare about Morraine too.”

Oh.

“I’m so sorry, Bae.” The words were automatic, but the arms Rumplestiltskin wound around his son were delicate in their sympathy. He knew what was in store for Morraine now… as did Lady Belle. Rumplestiltskin’s stomach twisted at the thought of all he’d admitted last night, but she was still here. More than that, she’d comforted and held him, slept beside him and now looked on approvingly as he held Bae. Rumplestiltskin looked up and the evidence of Lady Belle’s kindness took his breath away.

She was beautiful, in body as well as mind. Sleeping in her dress had wrinkled it horribly and her curls had tangled over the last few days, the coils hanging limp as the rest stuck up in the back. Lady Belle’s coloring was paler than when she’d arrived and there were shadows under her eyes that made Rumplestiltskin wince. They were both in need of washing. The stockings she’d come in were matted with grime. Was she thinner? Surely she hadn’t been here long enough for that. She looked it though. As Lady Belle raised her arms to stretch Rumplestiltskin caught a glimpse of pink skin—evidence of her healing burns.

Still, for all that she was beautiful. Which meant that Rumplestiltskin couldn’t help but look again.

“I’ll heat us up some breakfast,” she said.

Squalor and work. Absolutely not.

“I’ll do it,” he insisted, rising to his feet. “Bae, fetch the rice from last night?”

Bae made faces as he went, not that Rumplestiltskin could blame him. The rice was never any good reheated, either too hard or suspiciously mushy, but the meat that Dai and Knott had given him them was an unexpected boon and the last thing Rumplestiltskin wanted was to eat through it too quickly. It would make an excellent addition to their winter stock.

Especially now that there was another mouth to feed.

Rumplestiltskin stared at Lady Belle with her wild hair and wrinkled clothing. He’d told her everything. About Milah and the war… his choice to destroy his own leg… and she still stood there, poised in his hut like it remained the most natural place for a lady such as herself to live. Despite hardship and threats and cowardice she was still _here_ … at least for now. Lady Belle still befriended him, thank the gods. She—

What was she staring at?

“Lady Belle?” Rumplestiltskin hobbled over, laying one hand tentatively atop her arm. He’d meant to guide her back to bed while he heated up some water for her to wash in, but she was staring intently at the table, both her fists clenched and trembling at her sides. The only thing there though was Dinah, her tail swishing.

“Lady Belle… please… what’s wrong?”

Slowly Lady Belle nodded, as if she’d only just now heard him.

“Tell me, Rum,” she said. “Did you buy any beans at market?”

He blinked. “Beans? Ah, no… Bae? Did you purchase beans, son?”

“Nuh uh.” Bae came skidding over, pot in hand, but he dropped it onto the stove when he found Rumplestiltskin hovering. He unceremoniously poked her in the side. “Belle?”

“And did you have any in the house before that?” she continued, as if neither of them had interrupted.

“N-no…”

“We haven’t had beans in months, Belle. They’re for the warm weather. Why are you so interested in them all of a sudden?”

“Oh, no reason,” Lady Belle said faintly. “Just wondering where that came from.”

The three of them turned towards Dinah who was still sitting on the table. Sitting unnatural still, now that Rumplestiltskin thought about it. Her tale still whipped back and forth—almost smugly—though the rest of her looked as if it was carved from stone. Even her eyes remained still, not even a blink. Rumplestiltskin found the gaze somewhat unnerving, to the extent that it took him a moment to notice what Dinah held in her mouth.

It was a bean, just as Lady Belle had said. Two-thirds of the bean stuck out from Dinah’s lips and it occurred to Rumplestiltskin just how gently she was holding it… almost reverently.

As if that understanding was the catalyst, Dinah let out a surprisingly loud purr from around the bean. She suddenly leapt from the table, winding twice around Lady Belle’s legs before stretching upwards, reaching, still yowling. Like in a dream, Lady Belle bent and allowed Dinah to deposit the bean into her hand.

“She’s feeding you!” Bae cried.

Rumplestiltskin leaned closer. “I wonder where she got it from.”

“Or who gave it to her.”

He looked up, surprised to see Lady Belle staring at the bean with shock, happiness, and… regret? She whipped her head towards him, eyes blown wide.

“Rum, do you know what this _is_?”

“It’s a bean,” Bae answered, sounding put out at the obviousness of it all.

“It’s a _magic_ bean.”

Leaving them gaping, Lady Belle rushed over to the window where the morning light was streaming in between the boards. She held the bean up and then released a wild laugh, nodding her head vigorously. Lady Belle turned back to them and held the bean up between thumb and forefinger.

Rumplestiltskin felt himself reeling.

Bae wasn’t quite so effected.

“Ha, ha, Belle,” he said, turning back to the rice. “Your stories are great, but you can’t _trick_ me. There isn’t magic in these parts.”

“There’s magic everywhere, son.” Rumplestiltskin said. Bae turned back in surprise at his father’s tone, but Rumplestiltskin was staring at Lady Belle. Now, looking closer, the bean sparkled in the sunlight and he’d swear he could feel the gold Lady Belle had made him singing at his back—threads of magic beginning to weave together. He shivered.

“I’ve seen these before,” Lady Belle insisted. “The man I work for… Rum, you know that he has all manner of magical objects in his possession, including beans.”

Bae was smart enough to catch on and realized that, yes, the adults were actually having a serious conversation about this. About _magic_. His jaw positively unhinged.

“Magic?” he squeaked. “Like. Like _real_ magic? Like what Anualt does?”

“Far more than that. Like from the stories.” Rumplestiltskin was a few steps ahead of his son and he continued to stare at the bean with a mixture of astonishment and disbelief. He’d heard tales of creatures that trapped you in realms by tricking you to eat their food, but…

“How can a bean be magical?”

Bae was still processing. “You work for a magic person, Belle? Are you a _witch_??”

Lady Belle cracked a smile, the first since Dinah had started all this. “Now if I was a witch, don’t you think I would have zipped up that mouth of yours by now? No, Bae. That is… I can do a little magic, but only a real little.”

“You spun _gold_ ,” Rumplestiltskin murmured and felt slightly less self-conscious at his own, continued astonishment when Bae let out a loud gasp.

Lady Belle’s arm flung out to point at him accusingly. “That was once. And done badly. And I doubt I could easily do it again. And would you stop _looking_ at me like that?”

Her request went unheeded. Bae looked to Lady Belle, to Rumplestiltskin, back to Lady Belle, and then to the chest where Rumplestiltskin had carefully stored his shirt the night before. Bae’s mouth worked around the words before he was able to speak them.

“That’s gold?” He rocked back on his heels, unconsciously arching towards the chest. Bae sucked in an excited breath when Lady Belle ran a hand over her face in a manner tantamount to an admission.

“Yes,” she groaned. “Please, it’s not nearly as impressive as you might think. Here, here, come here.”

Lady Belle rushed forward and Rumplestiltskin jumped when she snatched up his hand. Her touch was cold from the morning air, but he gripped back tightly, and when she drew Bae’s hand into the fold he shivered with contentment.

They stood together in the middle of their home, Lady Belle standing tall as she held his hand in her left and Bae’s in her right, drawing them close until she cupped them both in her small palms. The bean still rested between them, half of it pressing against Rumplestiltskin’s skin. He flexed his hand.

“Do you feel it?” Lady Belle asked, noticing his flinch. “You should. Give it a moment. Concentrate.”

She looked so earnest that Rumplestiltskin couldn’t help but obey. He drank her in a moment longer before shutting his eyes, trying to concentrate on this odd bean, though he truly didn’t know how. Still, if Lady Belle said it was possible, who was he to doubt her?

Rumplestiltskin drew in a breath and released it determinedly. For a long time he was distracted by the sounds around him: distant voices of his neighbors, the sheep, a single bird… then the subtle sounds he’d normally overlook—the ‘shhh’ of shifting snow and the ‘hooo’ of Bae and Lady Belle’s breathing, nearly in synch. You couldn’t _hear_ a bean of course, so Rumplestiltskin did his best to deafen himself, focusing almost solely on touch. He tried to press past the feeling of Lady Belle and Bae’s hands, forcing his palm down into that little bit of bean. It was only another moment then for him to feel it—just a glimpse. Rumplestiltskin’s eyes popped back open and found Lady Belle’s. She nodded at his expression.

There was a faint, static feeling thrumming through his body now, its origin pinpointed at the bean. It was like the sound of drums on festival day. Like a _heartbeat_. Rumplestiltskin knew the moment Bae began it feel too because he jerked beside him, then let out a pleasant hum in the back of his throat. It was soothing, this feeling… yet also energizing. Rumplestiltskin thought that he could just as easily charge into battle as he could curl up and go back to sleep.

Lady Belle nodded at his expression. “That’s magic,” she whispered.

“Magic,” Bae echoed.

“How…?” Rumplestiltskin couldn’t voice his question. He kept getting distracted by the bean.

Lady Belle seemed to realize this too. She gave their hands a tight squeeze that woke them somewhat.

“Everyone can feel magic because everyone has magic within them,” she said. “Oh, not to the extent that everyone can do something with it, but it’s there. You just have to look for it. Beans are admittedly easier. You’ve got a whole _world’s_ worth of magic condensed into one very tiny object.”

She pulled back then, disentangling them completely, and Rumplestiltskin prided himself on watching the bean go with equanimity. Lady Belle held it back up to the light and it suddenly didn’t look quite so simple anymore. Still…

“How does a bean get that much magic in it?” Bae groused. He shook his head like a dog shedding water, peering suspiciously at the bean. Rumplestiltskin felt a similar disbelief creeping back, despite the evidence he’d experienced just moments before. A _bean_?

“Because this isn’t an ordinary bean, Bae. Not like the kind you grow at home or buy at market. I don’t even know if they’re grown at all. I’ve never seen one created.” Lady Belle stared at the bean in wonder. “I’ve seen a collection before though, more than one person should ever own, probably. My employer… we have our differences. Certainly, but he’s kind in his own way and I believe that he wants to keep me safe. I bring him tea in his workshop you see, and over on one of the far tables, collected in a teacup, is a handful of beans just like this one. I had the same reaction as you two. Beans? Really? But with so many in one place I was able to feel their power immediately. My employer said that they were for emergency purposes only. I got the feeling he wouldn’t touch them otherwise. One was to be used only if I—we—well and truly needed to escape.”

“Escape…?” Rumplestiltskin said. The beginning of an idea had started growing in his mind.

Lady Belle clutched the bean tightly. “ _Portals_ , Rum. Beans are how you travel between worlds!”

They stood in silence, all of them staring, all of them coming to the same, inevitable conclusion. Lady Belle opened her fist again and offered them the bean, balancing it between the three of them.

As she did Dinah dropped from the table and wound around their feet, yowling in triumph.

***

Rumplestiltskin had heard enough stories in his life to know that there was a difference between time in tales and time in real life. In the stories knights would take up their swords at a moment’s notice, princess would flee from home at the drop of a silver piece, or friends would embark on quests with hardly a thought to the consequences. Things happened _fast_ in stories, plot driven by action, and it worked because you knew that by the end of the tale everyone would have found their happy ending, regardless of what they needed to sacrifice to get it.

Real life didn’t work like that.

Except when it did.

If anyone had told Rumplestiltskin even a day ago that he would have woken up in the arms of a gorgeous woman, discovered a magical bean by means of an adopted cat, and decided to leave his home all in one morning… ha. What a spectacle he would have made of himself.

Yet here they were.

The decision, when it came right down to it, was easier than one might expect. Bae grew older every day and soon Hodor—armed with the Dark One no less—would come for him and toss him into war. Even if there was a way to avoid such a tragedy, it wasn’t as if Rumplestiltskin’s village held much love for him. There were those that treated him respectfully… but nothing approaching fondness. If he were to leave, what was he truly missing out on? The chance of endless ridicule and his son’s untimely death?

Rumplestiltskin had often thought about leaving, packing up and fleeing to an edge of the kingdom where the Duke’s power held no sway. Yet where would they go? How would they get there? A young boy and a crippled man trying to survive… The fear of the unknown was somehow worse than the fear of what was coming for them, and Rumplestiltskin had remained planted.

Now though…

Even stronger than all this was the knowledge that Lady Belle needed to leave. _That_ was inevitable. Rumplestiltskin realized this, but he’d yet to come to terms with it and now, miraculously, she was offering the chance to leave _together_.

How could he possibly say no to that?

None of them voiced the decision aloud, though in truth they didn’t have to. Even Bae took it in a stride. He too knew the undeniable risks of staying and he’d lost his strongest tie to the community when Morraine was dragged away. He cast one more astonished look at the bean before rushing off, joining them in their frantic attempts to condense a life into just a few satchels.

Food was of the upmost importance. As was his livelihood. Rumplestiltskin took up his crutch and went out to his sheep, giving each a melancholy pat before setting to work. They weren’t due to be sheared yet, but he couldn’t afford to waste what little wool they could provide him with. Rumplestiltskin took his shears and spent the morning crouched painfully in the snow, working to find a balance between taking as much as he needed while still ensuring that the small flock had enough wool to survive the winter. He gathered a tarp and let the wool fall into it, keeping it dry, and when he was done Rumplestiltskin bundled it all into one package. He’d worry about cleaning it another day.

He hesitated over the fattest sheep… there was nothing for it though. Rumplestiltskin didn’t know how far they’d have to travel before they used this portal, or what kind of food they’d find access to on the other side. The meat Dai and Knott had given them would only go so far.

Slitting the animal’s throat was harder than Rumplestiltskin had thought it would be. He’d never intended for his flock to be food. Still, he’d only take one. The rest they’d leave with enough feed for a day or two. It wouldn’t take his neighbors much longer than that to work things out and no one would pass up a free flock.

Rumplestiltskin staggered back inside—freezing, shaking, dotted in blood, his leg shrieking in pain from the labor. Lady Belle immediately rushed forward to ease him into a chair, her hands patting over him fretfully.

“Let us do the rest,” she insisted, face carefully blank. “What else?”

Rumplestiltskin gasped a moment before answering. “Anything of value. Leave—leave the rest.”

That wasn’t all that difficult to determine. Still, it took them the better part of the day to justify or part with each object. Bae wanted to take too many things and they both had to continually remind him that they’d be moving on foot, as fast as they were able. The rest of their meager kitchen was quickly packed away, as were their warmest blankets. Rumplestiltskin was still shaking horribly from cold when they went through their clothing, deciding that it was better to wear as many layers as they could, rather than trying to carry it. He let Lady Belle lead him into the alcove of his bed (their bed now?) and strip him to the waist, helping to keep him balanced and guiding his arms through numerous shirts and his cloak. Rumplestiltskin kept reminding himself that she’d done this just hours before… but that didn’t stop the blush from spreading down to his ribs.

“You can’t be that cold if you’re blushing like that,” she teased. Lady Belle suddenly sobered. “The clothes you were wearing before, they’re still too damp. Leave them?”

“Leave them,” he agreed and they set back to work.

That became the mantra of the day: leave the other kitchen tools—they were too heavy to carry. Leave the bedding—same thing. Leave the small knick knacks he’d acquired over the years—Rumplestiltskin wasn’t attached to them anyway. Leave your toys, Bae—we’ll carve more for you when we get wherever we’re going. Leave everything that isn’t an absolute necessity.

When he could feel his limbs again Rumplestiltskin shyly dug out the remainder of his clothes, presenting them to Lady Belle. She might have had enough yesterday for a trip to the market, but she’d never survive a night outside in just her dress. He had an old sweater he’d been meaning to pull apart for ages and though it had holes in the sleeve, it would go a long way towards keeping her warm. Lady Belle donned it with a smile.

“Boots and stockings from my employer,” she said. “Morraine’s dress. Your sweater. Your wife’s gloves… I’m honored, Rum.”

“And me!” Bae hollered. He dropped down from his bed with a moth-eaten scarf that Rumplestiltskin had thought they’d thrown out years ago. He waved the monstrosity in triumph.

“I had a pet rat for a while. This was his bed,” Bae said and wrapped the scarf around Lady Belle’s neck.

Rumplestiltskin blanched.

“Well… it is warm,” she admitted. Lady Belle ducked her nose into the wool—only to pull out with a cough and a choke. She quickly tucked the scarf down beneath her collar when Bae wasn’t looking.

“Finish packing,” Rumplestiltskin said and shoved Bae off before he could come up with more ways to be helpful.

The work kept them from thinking too much and little moments like those kept their spirits from plummeting. If anything, an odd bubble of hope had started growing in Rumplestiltskin chest. He examined his small house for anything else that might prove useful. He put aside those things that he thought his friends (… friends?) might like, small piles that were clearly designations. When all was said and done, the three of them had a collection of bags split between them and a determination to see this through. There were only three things left.

Rumplestiltskin retrieved the shirt from its chest, the last of the gold thread waiting for him to weave it in. It was his most prized possession now… next to his wheel. He couldn’t bring that with them though. He’d just have to build another. Rumplestiltskin shut his eyes at the prospect, both in despair and possibility. It had to be worth it.

Lady Belle snatched up the pouched filled with poison, tucking it back into her belt and out of Bae’s reach.

Bae hugged _Mistress Lina’s Book of Household Management_ tight to his chest.

“Roooooaw,” Dinah said. She’s been quiet all day, but now she scratched at the door impatiently.

“Yes,” Lady Belle said. “You too.” She swept the kitten into her cloak, hefting the bag of wool and small satchel of possessions. Bae took the food and linens. Rumplestiltskin was left with his shirt… and his crutch of course.

They opened the door and stepped out into the snow.

There was only one place to go. To their right the village continued, and past that was nothing but wilderness, uncharted and too dangerous for one woman, child, and man with a bum leg. To the front and behind them was just the same. The only true option was to head to their left—through the disbanded market and into the forest of the Duke. Rumplestiltskin swallowed at the mere thought, but his legs picked up the pace.

They’d only gone a few yards when Lady Belle shook the bean from her glove. Dinah poked her head out to sniff at it.

“Don’t drop it,” Rumplestiltskin said. His joke fell flat.

Bae turned, walking backwards to stare at their village. He wiped briefly at his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Rumplestiltskin stumbled. “ _What?_ What for?”

“For making us leave.”

Lady Belle was there before Rumplestiltskin could even formulate a response, one arm going around Bae’s shoulders while the other gestured behind them.

“You didn’t ‘make’ us do anything,” she said sternly. “We are leaving—in part—because of your upcoming recruitment, yes, but we’re also leaving because you deserve to have the chance to explore the world, Bae. _Any_ world. We’re leaving because you can’t live under the thumb of a sorcerer your whole life. Because I don’t think that town is a good place for your Papa.” (Rumplestiltskin nodded). “And, truthfully, because I _have_ to leave and I’d much rather have you two with me. I’m selfish like that.”

Bae hugged her back and Rumplestiltskin noticed a worried look passing over Lady Belle’s face. He chose to ignore it. For now.

“How far do we need to go?” he asked, gesturing towards the bean.

“Far enough. I’ve never actually seen a portal summoned, but it must release an immense amount of magic. Anything like that is going to bring the Dark One and his captors running fast. I may not like much of what your neighbors have done, Rum, but I wouldn’t want to bring that down on their heads. They’d no doubt point the finger at Anualt.”

“I don’t want her to get hurt,” Bae murmured.

“She won’t. We’ll summon it in the woods and the Duke won’t be able to make the connection. So far as anyone else knows, we simply moved to the next village over.”

“And if the Duke wished to track us that badly he’s in for a surprise when he gets to that village.” Rumplestiltskin said. “How does it work then? Where will we go?” He swallowed down his fear.

It didn’t help that Lady Belle hesitated. “I don’t know exactly.”

“You don’t _know_?”

She shrugged, apologetic. “As far as I’m aware, portals like these are somewhat… random. You end up, well, wherever you end up.”

“Neat!” Bae said and skipped forward, his sense of adventure getting the best of him. “And you’ll teach us to read more, right Belle? Wherever we go?”

“Of course.”

“Alright!”

Rumplestiltskin wasn’t nearly as keen.

Still, they’d made their decision. It was the only decision, truth be told. He couldn’t wait around for Bae to be taken and regrettably, he couldn’t bring himself to leave Lady Belle’s side. Not yet at least.

The only thing left then was to trudge forward.

They made good time over the next few hours. The temperature had dropped and though the cold bit at their exposed skin, it had frozen the snow into sheets that were easier to navigate. Rumplestiltskin kept his balance using his crutch and Lady Belle’s shoulder in turns. She never once begrudged him the contact.

Sooner than he’d have thought possible they were at the opposite end of the market clearing, the beginnings of the forest just up ahead. By the time they reached the edge of the trees only the brightest fires of his village could be seen. Rumplestiltskin swallowed down the regret. In truth, despite the treatment, he would have liked to say goodbye to a few. Dolin… Knott… Dai… even Anualt. She would have probably tried to stop him though. ‘Save him from his stupidity.’

Rumplestiltskin snorted.

“What’s so funny?” Lady Belle asked. She smiled in the dark.

“Ah, nothing. Just thinking of Anualt. The things she’d say to this—”

“ _Shh!_ ”

Lady Belle hushed him with a stern hand, instinctually pulling both him and Bae against her. Rumplestiltskin could hear it then too: footsteps up ahead… and voices. He paled as he recognized them both.

“— _control_ you,” Hodor said, the sneer in his voice quite audible.

The Dark One made a grudging sound of assent.

“Yes, Master.”

Rumplestiltskin started trembling at his tone. That wasn’t the voice of a true submissive—he knew that voice, it was the one he heard coming out of his own mouth every day—the tone of someone just waiting for their chance. Biding their time.

“Quick,” Lady Belle hissed and dragged them both behind a tree. Just in time. Hodor appeared from the shadows, his dagger stretched out before him. Rumplestiltskin jerked as he realized there was a third person, their hands bound and their knees giving out. They fell to the forest floor.

“I’m not going to tell you again,” Hodor said. He raised the dagger. “ _Kill_ her.”

Lady Belle let out a barely audible gasp. At first Rumplestiltskin thought it was just at the thought of witnessing a murder, but then the moon passed through the clouds and he finally got a look at the victim’s face.

It was Anualt.

Anualt was kneeling in the dirt before them.


	16. The Circle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, friends - only one chapter left!! I'm posting this one a bit early because I want time to revise the epilogue. I PLAN to get it done by Sunday, but this may be the one time when a chapter comes just a little late. Bear with me ^_^
> 
> Also, a WARNING: this chapter contains allusions to rape, so please keep that in mind. 
> 
> Onwards!

“Kill me?” Anualt said. She spit, and though Belle couldn’t see in the dark, she was sure there must be blood there. “Where’s the profit in that then?”

“Shutting your damned trap,” Hodor growled and drove a kick into Anualt’s side. The old woman crumpled onto her back, but she wheezed out a laugh as she rolled. She continued laughing as she gazed up at the stars.

“Shutting… my trap… yes… fair point that.”

Belle jerked when she felt Bae’s nails digging into her leg, the poor boy staring at his birthing mother as she cackled at the sky. Belle turned towards Rum and found him pale as milk, his face shining in the darkness, his hands kneading the wood of his crutch. They couldn’t witness this. They couldn’t go back without being heard. What were they to do?

What was _Anualt_ doing out here?

It occurred to Belle then, like a douse of cold water, exactly how stupid this whole plan had been. Oh, she’d realized the holes from the start, she’d simply opted to ignore them. A very potent—very rare—magical bean suddenly appears in a poor man’s house, right after that damnable cat arrives? That wasn’t a coincidence. Gods, that as far from a coincidence as possible, more of a sign than Belle could have ever hoped for and damn it all, she took it. Who cared if Rumple had refused to tell her how the beans worked, his scaly eyes passing over them like he couldn’t bear to look? Who cared if Belle had only ever heard of travel through space, not time? Who even cared if, by some miracle, they did land back in her own time, back in Rumple’s castle… what was she supposed to do with _two_ Rumplestiltskins? Someone couldn’t exist in the same space as their past self. It was unnatural. _Aberrant_ , and if Belle was frank with herself, she’d never allow it to happen.

She’d thought of leaving Rum and Bae, jumping into the portal by herself… and then immediately dismissed that thought. That was equally an impossibility. More likely, Belle would get _them_ to leave, by force if necessary, and find another way home on her own. Let them have their happy ending. If Time had a problem with that, he could damn well take it up with her.

None of these options included Anualt though, certainly not Anualt with Hodor and the _Dark One_ standing over her.

“What are you doing here?” The Dark One said, hissing out all their thoughts. His voice was cold and clear—like newly formed ice. “A frail, old woman such as yourself… it’s dangerous out in the woods at night.”

Anualt rolled to her knees, gathering her breath. Belle could see her wrinkled lips pulling into a smile as she gazed up at the sorcerer. “Oh?” she said. “Is it? My, my, thank you for the warning. I could ask the same of you though. What’s a Duke’s dog and _his_ mutt doing out on a night like this, hmm? Not planning to scare the village more, are you? By, perhaps, setting some old barns on fire?”

Belle felt Bae go completely still as Hodor’s expression darkened.

“You didn’t know there was a child in there, did you? Stupid boy. Such a glutton for violence, thinking nothing of the consequences—”

“Do shut it,” Hodor snarled and backhanded Anualt across the cheek. Rum jumped at the loud ‘smack!’ while Belle instinctually hooked her arms around Bae’s waist, preventing him from rushing out.

“You think I care?” Hodor said, leaning in close. “The brat of a coward? The world would have been better off without him. Now, don’t think that you’re going to distract me so easily: what are you doing out in the woods?” He gripped Anualt hard by the hair.

“Would you believe a midnight stroll?” she gasped. When he only pulled tighter she let out another laugh, though one so full of wheezing and hacks that at first Belle thought she was choking. “No? Pity. I had hoped you were just stupid enough. Not that you’ll believe me either way. Those who don’t practice magic can never hope to understand its call.”

“Magic…” Hodor said. He glanced to the Dark One, then tightened his hold on the dagger. With a horrible grin he trailed the point along Anualt’s cut cheek. “Magic? Fool, I control the most powerful magic of all.”

Anualt scoffed, her gaze turning serious. “Control? You don’t control magic, stupid boy. You _obey_ it, just as I did tonight. Hadn’t laid this old head on the pillow longer than a minute before the dreams came: this clearing, _your_ stupid voice, a few old friends…” Anualt’s eyes seem to flick over to where they were hiding. “And an odd little phrase, ‘Beware the beggar.’ Do wonder what that could mean. Any ideas, Dark One?”

The sorcerer said nothing. Hodor released Anualt with a curse.

“You came out here tonight because of _dreams_ , hag? Gods, you’re even farther gone than the rumors say.” Another kick and this time Anualt doubled over with the pain. “Just kill her already!”

Hodor raised the dagger—whether to command the Dark One or slash Anualt’s throat on his own, Belle didn’t know—but he wasn’t given the chance to do either because Dinah suddenly let out a horrifying wail. Belle dropped the clawing cat, crashing into Bae and throwing the three of them from the protection of the tree. Cursing, she scrambled to her feet as Dinah made a leap for Hodor’s hand, attacking his hold on the knife. While they wrestled Belle pulled a dazed Rum up and swept whatever belongings she could into her arms.

She grabbed hold of the book.

Belle had _Mistress Lina’s_ tucked under her armpit, Rum’s arm in one hand and Bae’s collar in the other. She didn’t care if they’d managed to grab the rest of their belongings or not, they were leaving, _now_. They’d run, using the cover of darkness to their advantage. Then, when Bae and Rum were safe, she’d come back for Anualt. Belle would find a way—

“Bind them!”

Belle smelled the magic on the air before she felt it on her skin. Then it arrived: quick and sudden as a lash of fire, curling around her ankles and wrists. With a cry she was dragged backwards, slamming into Rum’s shoulder as they were both forced onto their knees in the dirt. Rum was tucked against Anualt’s right while Bae landed with a wail next to Belle. Even little Dinah was bound by a single cord, tossed into Belle’s lap where she bucked there, hissing.

Anualt smiled rather sadly. “Well look at that,” she said. “Old friends.”

Bae angrily tossed the hair from his eyes. “Let go of us, you creep!” he shrieked. Bae pulled uselessly at the cords of green magic binding his limbs together. Belle felt the same restriction, tightening every time she made a move to struggle.

“Let us go,” she echoed. “You have no right to act in such a manner!”

“No right?” Hodor asked. He was panting, like the excitement had caused him great physical exertion. He certainly hadn’t done any work. The Dark One’s scaly arm was still poised in the air, keeping his magic steady. “You talk to me of rights, pretty? I have the right to _do as I please_.”

Belle’s blood ran cold as he approached, kneeling down to take her chin in one roughened hand. Hodor stroked her skin with his thumb as Belle tried desperately to pull out of his grasp—pull away from the smell of fish on his breath and the leer in his voice.

“Let her go.”

It took her a moment to realize that the hard, angry voice was Rum’s. Belle whipped her head around to find him glaring, straining against his own bonds with a vigor she’d rarely seen in him. As soon as Hodor’s eyes fell on him though, Rum seemed to deflate back into the ground.

“Please,” he amended. “Just let them go. I-I’m the one you want. You’ve always hated me. Just leave them be. And… w-we can pay. Yes! Please!”

Rum started thrashing again, but this time it wasn’t in a vain attempt to break the magic’s hold on him. Rather, he tipped forward until an object fluttered out from beneath his cloak. Belle recognized it as the embroidered shirt.

Anualt’s eyebrows rose into her hairline. “Well, aren’t you full of surprises, spinner,” she said.

“Gold,” the Dark One hissed. Unnecessarily, given that it glimmered beautifully in the moonlight, Rum’s work shining through with the skill of a master. Hodor snatched the piece in an instant, his eyes flicking between the gold and Belle.

“I wonder where a poor man the likes of you gets such a treasure,” he sneered. “Or how he caters the company of such a woman… frankly, spinner, I don’t care. Not about your gold or your woman or what business you have in these woods tonight. All I care about is getting what I want… and what I want is _everything_.” Hodor spread his arms in a parody of companionship. “You’re right, sorcerer! Why kill them just yet? I’ll take this fine piece—thank you, spinner—I’ll take this Belle until she rings, and if I feel like it, I may even take you too, witch.”

“Careful. I’m bound to bite off whatever you offer,” Anualt snapped. It only made Hodor cackle.

“And you,” he said, kneeling before Bae. “I’ll take you to the front lines. Young or not, you’ll have nothing left for you here when I’m through.”

Bae glared and Belle felt a thrill of pride as he lifted his tiny chin ever higher. Even Bae couldn’t mask his shock though when his bonds were suddenly released.

“Build me a fire,” Hodor said. “I’ll want somewhere cozy for this.”

“May the Gods damn you,” Bae spit. Literally, his spittle flew across Hodor’s boots in a shower. Hodor grabbed him roughly by the hair, hauling Bae back to his feet.

“Build the fire and then I’m making you _lick_ these clean.”

“Do as he says, boy,” Anualt called. She nodded at Bae’s look. “Just do it.”

Bae glanced at his father. Then Belle.

“Do as he says, son.” Rum whispered. Belle tried to smile.

So Bae went, stumbling through the underbrush as Hodor all but threw him. There was nowhere for him to run, Belle saw that immediately. Though Hodor immediately took to examining the shirt Rum had given him ( _Given_ , Belle sneered in her mind), the Dark One kept a close eye on Bae, watching to ensure he did nothing beyond gather wood. Belle felt a now familiar ball of panic settling into her stomach and it took every bit of determination she had to ignore it.

“What now?” Rum whispered, his voice shaking. “Oh gods, what now, what now—”

“Shut it, spinner.” Anualt snapped. Her voice was the barest whisper, but Belle heard the cutting tone loud and clear. “You think I’m out on this frigid night for my health? I didn’t lie to that stupid boy. Premonitions are rare things, _powerful_ bits of magic, and I’ll be damned if I ignore mine. This isn’t the night you die, is it, M’lady?”

Rum’s head whipped towards Belle and she forced herself to nod. It was true enough. Time said to smooth things over… not change the future irrevocably. Rumplestiltskin dying tonight would certainly do that. She couldn’t explain it—could hardly believe it in truth—but Belle knew that everything was falling into place as it was meant to. Rum would live.

She just didn’t know if the same could be said of Bae.

Is this where his son was lost? At the hands of a cruel servant and a sorcerer bearing the same power Rum would one day yield? Belle didn’t know and a rather selfish part of her hoped she didn’t have the chance to find out.

She stared at the mop of black hair bent over the sticks. The edge of Bae’s face was suddenly illuminated by fire.

“The boy’s almost done,” Anualt hissed. Her breath came in pained, raspy gasps. “M’lady, do you have any way out? Anything you’re not telling me?”

Belle hummed in the back of her throat. “Yes. A bean. A portal.” She had just enough leeway with her hands to shake it free from her glove. It tumbled onto the ground beside her, right under Anualt’s shocked gaze.

“Could spend our final moments asking you where you got the likes of that…” she murmured.

Belle smiled. “I’m not entirely sure I know.”

“Hmm… right. And you are aware only two can go through, yes?”

Belle froze, as did Rum beside her. Even Dinah picked her head up, meowing pitifully.

“I’ll take that as a ‘no.’”

“Take Bae then,” Rum whispered, desperately, beseeching. “Take _Bae_.”

“I don’t think I can…”

It was the truth—Belle wasn’t willing to give Rum anything less at this point. He seemed to realize it too because Rum immediately bowed his head in shame.

“Bae needs you,” Belle whispered. She didn’t know how much longer the father and son had together, but she’d make sure they cherished every possible second. “You hear me? Not me and certainly not your wife. _You_. Leave if you still need to, but don’t let whatever happens tonight keep you from loving him. That’s what you two are good at. It’s what makes you _brave_.”

Belle wasn’t surprised to find tears trickling down Rum’s cheeks, nor for him to press his face violently against her shoulder. She was surprised though when he reared up, planting a quick, cold kiss against her mouth. Belle was able to savor it for only the briefest moment before Rum pulled back, trembling even harder than before.

“Don’t go,” he pleaded.

“I’ll see you again.”

“You can’t promise that.”

Belle smiled. “Actually, I can.”

“Enough,” Anualt said. Her voice was firm… though not unkind. “M’lady? You have those herbs I gifted you with?”

“Yes.”

“Pass them to Rumplestiltskin.”

Rum’s expression softened at the use of his name, then grew fearful again as Belle sucked in her stomach, arched her back, and allowed the pouch to slide out from her belt. It landed on her left and with just a bit of scooting she’d pushed it towards Rum’s hands. She saw his fingers reach for the drawstrings tentatively.

“It won’t kill without ingestion, but it will burn something fierce, perhaps even blind if you can catch him in the eyes. I’ll break these bonds. Spinner, you take care of Hodor. Get the knife. Turn it on the Dark One.”

Rum gapped at Anualt. “Control it?”

“No. Kill it.”

Anualt smiled sadly as Rum’s mouth unhinged even further. Belle looked to the Dark One though, thinking. The hood kept her from seeing his eyes, but she was sure he was watching, sure he knew exactly what they were planning… yet he did nothing.

“He wants us to,” Belle murmured.

“ _What?_ ”

Anualt cackled softly. “Aye. Life like his? Who can blame him. The stupid boy doesn’t realize how weak his pet made these,” Anualt tugged at her bonds. “Or that he knows exactly what we’ve been discussing. He’ll stand still for you, spinner. All you need is to thrust. Surely even you can manage that. For Bae. For your lady.” Her eyes turned hard, pinning Rum like an arrow that had found its mark. “If there was ever a time to find courage, Rumplestiltskin, now would be it.”

“Trust me,” Belle added. She looked at his face, now illuminated by a roaring fire, and could easily imagine the scales there. “This is right.”

Rum didn’t look convinced, far from it: terrified, anguished, sick with grief, but he nodded all the same. Belle felt a huge rush of love welling up within her.

“Anualt. Thank you,” she said, not taking her eyes off Rum.

“Don’t thank me yet, child. Just send up a prayer for these old bones when you’re home.”

“Rum?” she said. “Will you say it? Just once?”

Rum didn’t need her to specify. For just a second his tears tried and he mustered up a smile, resting his forehead against hers.

“Belle,” he whispered. No honorifics, just her name, carried between them on the night wind.

“Say goodbye to Bae for me. _Love_ him, Rum. Like I love both of you.”

Anualt suddenly stiffened. “Now. While the boy is out of the way.”

Belle looked. Bae was indeed shuffling back towards them, the roaring fire separating him from Hodor and the Dark One. He looked up and caught Belle’s eye, tilting his head curiously.

She mouthed a goodbye.

“ _Now!_ ” Anualt shrieked and everything happened at once.

Another word followed her shout, older and seeped with power. Belle didn’t recognize the language, but the sound cut through their bonds like old paper, revealing just how tenuous the magic had been in the first place. Belle immediately rolled to her feet, clutching Dinah protectively against her chest as she turned on her heel, bending to scoop up the bean. Body moving seemingly on its own, Belle transferred Dinah to the crook of her arm and used her free hand to grab _Mistress Lina’s_ book. She had a sudden, ridiculous regret that she hadn’t been able to teach them more about reading. As chaos erupted around her, Belle’s foolish mind hoped that Rum and Bae continued to learn.

She heard a scream, drawn out by pain. Belle turned and saw Hodor before the fire, hands clawing at the skin of his cheeks as it began to blister and smoke. He dropped the shirt he’d been holding, dropped it right into the fire, and all the beautiful gold went up in smoke. Hordor continued to wail as Belle’s eyes traveled to Rum: poised in his pose after he’d thrown the poison, using Anualt as a crutch, his face a mask of bravery and determination.

The moment was broken. With a shattered cry Bae slammed into Hodor, knocking him into the coals and sending the dagger flying from his belt.

Belle looked… but the Dark One simply stood there, watching it all unfold.

“What are you waiting for?” Anualt screamed. “ _Go!_ ”

Dinah was crying up a storm, clawing at Belle’s arm and nipping at her hand. Yes. Go. But how? Belle didn’t know, so she let her fear and frustration consume her, throwing the bean deep into the shadows. The response was immediate. The magic within it erupted in a shower of purple and green, a deep whirlpool appearing, already sucking Belle towards its depths.

She ran three steps towards it, stopped, turned and found Rum. He had the dagger in his hands now and as Bae pressed Hodor’s face into the fire and Anualt bound the Dark One in his own chains, he lunged forward to drive the dagger into his chest. Rum hesitated though, just for a moment, and in that span of time Belle though, impossibly, that she heard the Dark One whisper “please.”

Then the tip of the dagger pierced his cloak. It tore through shirt and scales… then all-too human flesh.

Belle felt herself falling backwards, desperately trying to keep Dinah safe against the crook of her neck. She’d lost her footing, the portal coming up to claim her. The power it had unleashed in its creation had driven Bae’s fire to new heights and the wind picked up clumps of snow around them, dousing them until they were soaked. Belle felt the same, strange mixture of hot and cold as when she’d first arrived. Everything was coming full circle.

She had time enough for one more word.

“ _Rumplestiltskin!_ ”

He turned, skin already shimmering green, eyes glowing yellow… but he smiled at her. Rum smiled at Belle as she fell away.

The last thing Belle saw was the dagger, shimmering in the firelight. On its surface was a name she’d never noticed before: ‘Zoso.’

Before the darkness claimed her, Belle saw it change to ‘Rumplestiltskin.’

 


	17. Their Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... this is it! 
> 
> I cannot EXPRESS how much joy I've found in writing and posting this fic. All of you - from new readers to those who have posted reviews for every chapter - have been the greatest part of this journey. I can't thank you enough... though this is me attempting to try! I only hope that you all find pleasure in the epilogue as much as the rest of the fic. It may not be what everyone is specifically looking for, but regardless, I hope you all find your own way of enjoying it. 
> 
> As a final note: if you'd like to support this fic even more (wow!) I'd ask that you consider nominating it for a [T.E.A. Award](http://theespensonawards.tumblr.com/) starting January 17th. My own thoughts are that this fic would be good for the "Best Woobie!Rum" character award or the "Best AU!OUAT" but ultimately nominate it for whatever you'd like - if you want to nominate it at all ^__^ 
> 
> Thank you all again. It was amazing having you as readers! <3

Belle fell through darkness, tumbling, turning, trying to catch hold of something that simply wasn’t there. Then suddenly there was the briefest patch of light and she fell hard, cracking her back on the table beneath her.

At least, she thought that she’d broken it. Something splintered and with her breath stolen and dots dancing before her eyes, it took Belle a moment to realize that it was the remains of a tea set that had met its untimely end. She carefully rolled away from the shards, relieved beyond measure when all her limbs proved to be in working order. Belle drew a shaking arm around Dinah who trembled endlessly against her chest.

Where—?

“Less than two seconds,” a voice said. “My my, aren’t you the lucky one. You’ve hardly lost a bit of me.”

Belle recognized the voice. Dimly. Like from a dream or… or from days past. She looked up and saw Time standing over her, his arms spread and his cloak eating away at the daylight. Daylight.

Daylight from the windows… glass she’d cleaned… curtains drawn up… she’d forced him to let the light in… _Rumple_ …

She was home.

Time smiled as Belle let out a ragged sob.

“Quite the performance! Far better than I ever expected, especially from such a young mortal. Though personally I wouldn’t have made some of those decisions. Inciting your love to murder? Tsk tsk, my lady. I understand that the spinner was destined to get there eventually, but it’s quite the crime to deny another their time. You’re lucky I’ve grown so fond of you… I do admit that I liked the touch with the book though. Teaching them to read? How novel. That’s a lovely little thread I never expected. What a marvel you are.”

Time bent, black eyes boring into hers. Belle forced herself to look away, struggled to her knees on the table and gasped, finally finding Rumple. He was no longer reaching towards her, but rather bent on his knees, claws digging into the ornamental carpet. At first she thought that Time had frozen him once more, but looking closer Belle could see the shivers wracking his body—the single tear tracing its way down his cheek. With a cry she deposited Dinah next to a shattered plate and shakily fell to his side.

“Rumple. Rum…?”

He wouldn’t look at her, just stared at the floor and drew rattling breaths, pupils blown wide. Belle startled and nearly let out a scream when Time suddenly appeared at their side, placing a cold hand on her shoulder. His other hand cradled Dinah.

“Be patient,” he murmured, stroking the kitten’s ear. “You’re good at that. The Dark One needs a moment to process it all. Do you have any idea how agonizing it is, trying to rationalize two sets of memories? Bae escaped the fire on his own… but he was also rescued. The spinner took the dagger from a castle as well as a man. He met you during your father’s deal _and_ over three hundred years ago. Hmm… I suppose I should tweak that one.”

“ _Don’t_ —” But Belle couldn’t stop Time from touching Rumple, long, spindly finger stroking his hair just as he’d stroked Dinah. Rumple let out a gasp as his eyes briefly rolled back in his head.

“There,” Time said. “A simple change to your past. You had rather vague feelings of recognition when you set eyes on Maurice’s daughter, didn’t you? Enough to make you ask for a ‘maid’ when you’d certainly never requested women before. Ah, I do love smoothing it all out. Déjà vu is such a useful little tool.”

Time smiled again, nearly bouncing in place. Belle felt her stomach rolling at the childish display and she grasped the fabric of her own shirt in comfort (Morraine’s, Bae’s scarf, his wife’s gloves…). Rumple’s hands were still buried in the carpet, but he did rock towards her weakly.

“Time, time, all you need is some time,” Time twittered. “I suggest you get used to the feeling, Dark One. You and your lady will be dealing with multiple memory sets a great deal in your future. Hmm… shouldn’t give too much away though. It’s always more fun to see you discovering it for yourself. Look, Belle.”

Belle looked. It didn’t feel like she had much choice in the matter. Time knelt beside them and opened the edge of his cloak. Within the inky blackness swirled a number of images, too fast and too numerous for Belle to make sense of. She caught sight of herself in odd clothing, a rose, a wheel, purple clouds sweeping towards them, an odd little town… then it all vanished, leaving her feeling drunk and exhilarated.

“There’s so much yet to come,” Time whispered. He slid effortlessly between Belle and Rumple, his expression cold. “You and your friends do much to test me, my lady. It was about _time_ you did something for me in return. And yet… I’ve given you a gift. Do you not see it? The gift of understanding. You now know your True Love in a manner you did not know him before.” Belle gasped at the two words, but Time took her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.

“Use me well, Belle. There are many trials rushing towards you and I fear that you and Rumplestiltskin do _not_ have all the time in the world.”

Belle nodded. She wasn’t sure why.

“Oh,” he said, suddenly all smiles. “And thank you for Dinah. A kitten used to falling through portals… yes, this will make a lovely gift for my Alice. Not that the cheeky brat deserves it.”

Time laughed, a sound indescribably _haunting_ — and then he was gone.

Belle was left staring at Rumplestiltskin. He knelt on his castle floor just as he’d knelt in the snow seconds… days… hundreds of years ago. The two images slotted together in Belle’s mind—spinner and Dark One—until they formed only a man who so clearly loved her. Rumple finally looked up and Belle knew he was coming to the same understanding.

“My fairy,” he whispered and reached towards her.

***

Six hours, twenty-four minutes, and thirty seconds later, Belle slipped from their bed, bare feet curling against the stone.

He hand trailed behind her as she moved, fingertips leaving Rumple’s arm only when they absolutely had to.

Still, she reached.

Belle supposed that in many respects their first night together had been just like any newfound couple. Certainly there was the rushed intimacy that came from impatience, the need to possess and acknowledge before one could explore. They whispered time-old endearments and made promises they could only hope to keep. Belle had captured the image of Rumple beneath her, head arched against the pillow, shadows playing in the hollow of his neck and had thought, ‘Yes, this is right.’

Now she padded from the chamber, legs taking her towards the library with practiced ease.

In other respects of course, their union was like nothing that had come before—and surely nothing like it would come again. Belle could already feel her mind sorting through the confusion, the odd mixture of Rum and Rumple beside her, flesh and scales, tenuous requests and giggled demands. It had taken two orgasms before Belle’s need melted away—like a craving settling back into her bones—just enough for her to realize that the merging was quite literal: each sweep of her hands across his bottom and back left a trail of pink skin in its wake… though the glittering green still inched forward, eager to reclaim its place. Each time Belle bucked she saw a flash of brown eyes overtaking yellow and she thought, ‘This is Rum.’ Then: ‘Now it’s Rumple.’ Until simply: ‘No. This is him.’

Descending the steps, rolling deliciously through each foot, Belle lifted the hem of her nightgown to bare her thighs in the moonlight, observing the growing bruises there. She traced each with a smile, thinking forward to days in the future when they’d fade to a grassy green. Perhaps she too could be dual.

Belle didn’t stop, hefting her nightgown and picking up the pace. She swept through the dining room where the shattered tea set still remained, left to its on devices in light of their reunion. Her bare toes dodged through debris, finding pleasure in the quick freedom of the movement, unhindered by winter’s deep snow (though also missing the press of another’s arm in hers). Belle flew down and snatched _Mistress Lina’s_ from its place on the table. She continued on towards the library, hand stroking the spine like one would a beloved pet.

She wondered if Dinah was safe. Whoever Alice was, Belle hoped she was kind.

Back out through the hall, two turns, up the smaller staircase the deposited her outside the library’s doors. Belle pushed them open with a breath, legs straining and nightgown swirling around her ankles, wind tickling her that shouldn’t have been there at all. The smell of dust and leather that greeted her made Belle smile in a way only Rumple had managed, when he spoke her name as many times as she desired, yelling it louder over the sound of her cries.

Now was for quiet though. Rest.

“Hello,” she whispered to the books.

There were whispers between them too, before, during, and after their physical conversation. Rumple had fed Belle the story in tiny pieces, admitting parts of himself amidst groans and gasps. Of course, Belle had already known a great deal of the tale—from her time there, from _Time_. What she hadn’t known though was what came after.

Anualt was gone. It was foolish to be upset about it, especially when Belle knew, logically, that some three hundred years had passed since they’d last met. Still, the news of Anualt’s death was like a tiny, persistent ache in the pit of her stomach. The only consolation was that Belle had truly seen her at her best. The strength required to break the Dark One’s bonds—even bonds made forcibly weak—had been too much for her. By the time Rumple had understood his transformation (by the time he could see through cat-like eyes, move with the pull of new skin, surrender to his power—) Anualt had been lying open-eyed in the snow, her gaze aimed triumphantly at the spot where Belle had disappeared.

Rumple had buried her beneath the tree where she and Belle had had their talk. He melted snow and churned earth to lay her to rest. She at least got an ending.

Morraine was not as lucky. Despite his power, Rumple had no idea what became of the girl. Nor Knott and Dai. They were still living in the village when Rumple eventually left. Alone.

“Foolish,” Belle murmured, tracing her fingers along the spines. “I told you to love him.”

He had and perhaps that was part of the problem. Too much love. Too much protection. Rumple had given her the outline and Belle had easily been able to fill in the rest: the end of the First Ogre War, Rumple’s growing paranoia, Bae’s faith, the fairy, the bean…

Rumple said that Bae had burst like sunlight into the cottage that day, crying and yelping that they could _finally_ find Belle again. Yet…

One tiny seed of doubt was all it had taken to separate father and son. Belle had taught Rum confidence. Magic even. She wondered how much responsibility she held for his choice in the end.

Losing Bae.

“It can’t be helped now,” she firmly told the books, nodding at each in turn. Belle’s feet picked up dust as she wound her way through the aisles. “I’m not here to lay blame. All we can do is move forward. Even when we’re forced to look back.”

She nodded to herself then, tucking the book more firmly beneath her arm. Belle finally found the door all the way in the back, the one that pulsed with unnatural light and had warm breezes seeping out beneath the doorjamb. She slid inside and breathed in the magic around her, comparable only to the spark she’d shared upstairs.

She and Rumple were fire together. Solid as ice. That strange mix of temperature that occurred when one fell through time. Belle felt it every time she kissed his neck, shoulder, stomach—everything but his lips. True Love’s kiss could do fully what her fumbling only managed for a moment and though Belle craved to give him that someday, she knew that magic was a part of him. At least for now.

He needed magic to find Bae.

Belle craned her neck and looked to the ceiling, darkened but for tiny pricks of candlelight, like stars. She closed her eyes and imagined a field of snow, empty but for a small cottage at her back.

“Where did you send him?” she asked those pinpricks. “Another realm? Another time? Here perhaps? … no. You’re not that kind.”

Belle slid to her knees, almost reverent in her movements. There was a space amongst all these magical texts, just the perfect size for a supposedly ordinary cookbook, and she slid it into place with all the solemnity of an offering. It felt like smoothing the edge of a rumpled fabric. Like coming home.

As she did, Belle heard an ancient clock beginning to strike behind her. Her eyes snapped towards the sound.

“We’ll find him,” she promised it. “Someday.”

Belle stood, turning back the way she’d come. The sound of the clock’s ticking still reverberated in her ears, thrumming through her with power and warning. Belle smiled.

“You’re wrong,” she told it.

Belle had no more use for its taunts. She turned her back on the clock, returning to her warm bed. To Rumple.

The two of them, brought together through time.

 

Fin.

 

“It’s no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.”

– Lewis Carroll, _Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland_


End file.
